From Hell To Heaven: Saving Argus

Goodbye Argus, Goodbye Ridge

2011-12-09T12:09:00.000-08:00

I heard a Fly buzz – when I died –
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air –
Between the Heaves of Storm –

The Eyes around – had wrung them dry –
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset – when the King
Be witnessed – in the Room –

I willed my Keepsakes – Signed away
What portions of me be
Assignable – and then it was
There interposed a Fly –

With Blue – uncertain stumbling Buzz –
Between the light – and me –
And then the Windows failed – and then
I could not see to see –

~Emily Dickinson

It is with great sadness that I announce that Argus' journey on Earth ended on a mild winter day on Tuesday, November 22, 2011. He was accompanied by his best friend, Ridge, who also died the same day.

Five days earlier, Argus sustained a sudden and severe shoulder injury. I had spent time with him earlier that day, checking him thoroughly and making plans to have the vet out to look at him. He had been having a lot of trouble with his knees and was dropping weight rapidly. Little did I know that that day would be his last happy time in pasture.

Around 2pm, I looked out at Argus in the field, grazing with Odie, Ridge, Dallas and Indy. I remember thinking about how content he seemed. I watched him as he lowered himself down to roll in his favorite spot in the pasture, then went to take a shower. Only a few minutes later, I saw him in pasture, his left front leg extended awkwardly. He was unable to bear weight on it, and his shoulder was rapidly swelling. A large lump that had not been there previously was also apparent.

A vet was summoned immediately. He felt that Argus had sustained some sort of severe muscle or nerve damage but did not suspect a fracture. "Only time will tell," he said tentatively. We loaded Argus up on bute and banamine, and made him as comfortable as possible. With the passage of five days, Argus did not improve, but rather worsened, and with his severely arthritic right knee bearing all his weight, he was in tremendous pain. A trailer ride to a large animal hospital for more in-depth diagnosis was not possible, but I had a second vet out for a second opinion. He sadly concluded that Argus' injury was grave, with no hope for improvement. With a heavy heart, I made the decision to end Argus' pain. Sadly, Dr. Miller was unable to attend to Argus that day.

While waiting for the vet to arrive, Ridge, Argus' best friend and constant companion, began to colic.

Argus' last hours were filled with love and care. He was brushed and loved. I talked to him about all the hope and joy he had brought me and so many others. He ate buckets of treats. He crunched carrots and apples. Yet his eyes were distant. His pain palpable. I ached at the thought of letting him go, and yet ached at seeing him suffer so much.

The end was quiet and peaceful. Argus stood in the pasture, surrounded by all his friends. Odie the mule stood stoically at his side, comforting him. Ridge was cared for by the vet's assistant. The vet administered the first of two syringes that would end Argus' life, and I stroked him and told him how much I loved him. I stepped back, Argus' eyes fixed on me, and told him, over and over, "I love you. It's okay to let go now." He seemed so tired, yet he stood for a long time, and when the drugs finally overtook him, he gracefully crumpled to the ground. I held his head in my lap; he died in my arms.

Unable to really grieve or process the loss of Argus, I immediately turned to the colicking Ridge, who received veterinary care that made him more comfortable. Throughout the day, I nursed Ridge and kept in frequent contact with the vet. By early evening, it was apparent to me that this was not a minor colic. Numb and in shock, I called the vet out again. By this time, Ridge's pain was becoming unmanageable, his gut sounds had diminished, and he began refluxing stomach fluid out through his nose.

So on this terrible day, less than seven hours after Argus left us, I found myself saying those words yet again: "I love you. It's okay to let go now," to Ridge as we released him from his pain. It was dark outside. The only lights reaching Ridge were the headlights of the vet's truck. And once again, Odie stood nearby as Ridge crumpled gracefully to the ground. I held his head in my lap as he took a few last breaths, which seemed almost ghostly as the warm air from his lungs met with the cold air outside, illuminated by the lights. And then Ridge was gone.

My two boys, the best friends we called "the bookends" and "the twins" because of how similar they looked, and how closely they always stood together, had gone to the Rainbow Bridge together. Argus could never stand being alone, and even in death, he was accompanied by his buddy Ridge.

It was a shocking and exquisitely painful day, and yet, when I think about it, there was something amazing in this turn of events that comforted me, knowing that some unseen force, be it God or the universe, had kept them together.

Argus and Ridge, our bookends, passed away together on a day with incredible symmetry: 11-22-11

Of all of the days of Argus' 18 years, and Ridge's 25 years, they went together, and they went on a date that looked itself like bookends. I hope you enjoy these photos of the two of them, taking during the nearly four years that Argus was part of my family. I miss them both more than words can express.

My deepest thanks go to Dr. Grant Miller of the Sonoma CHANGE Program for working so long and hard to give Argus the second chance he deserved, and for providing veterinary care that kept him comfortable for four years neither of ever expected he'd have. This from Dr. Miller: "His life was both tragic and beautiful, and his time with you was a blessing that restores my hope for humankind. Argus was an incredible fighter and I will always think of him as a living representation of perseverance and pride."

Thanks also go to my mother, Carol, who financially supported her "Argie boy" over the last four years. Your support and kindness was always heartfelt, Mom!

Thanks also goes to my family: My daughters, Demi and Shelby, who cared for Argus daily through thick and thin, and also put up with his shenanigans; my sons Drew and Ethan, who are always patient with their mother and her "horse stuff." And to my husband, Ken, who has set many a fence post without complaint. I love you all.

Several people have requested information about making a donation in memory of Argus and to support Dr. Miller's continued work with abused horses. Donations to the Sonoma CHANGE Program's "Special Needs Fund" are earmarked for providing program horses with extraordinary comfort measures such as the twice-yearly knee injections Argus received gratis via Dr. Miller and CHANGE. Donations to CHANGE's "Humane Education Fund" go directly to pay for equine education for Animal Control officers and at-risk horse owners. Please join me in supporting this worthy endeavor.

Thank you to all of you who have shared Argus' journey with me.
This will be my last blog post.
Until we meet again, rest in peace my beloved Argus and Ridge.

~Katie

Postscript: Argus' body was taken to the University of California at Davis for study and a necropsy. The preliminary necropsy report stated that Argus was riddled with melanomas. They appeared alongside every major organ, and several large melanomas that had formed along his left scapula had caused the muscle to detach. We could not have saved him --- this time.

The Happy Days of Summer

2011-07-22T15:01:00.000-07:00

Argus after his first full-body soap bath ever. He was so proud of himself, he refused to put his boy parts away!

After a long, wet winter and a short spring, the glorious days of Northern California's summer are here. Balmy days graced by a gentle southwest breeze give way to cool evenings as the coastal fog stretches its slender fingers 20 miles inland to our farm. The horses enter their carefree summer routine of baths, horse shows, moonlight adventures, giggling children and fly masks. It is a happy time on the farm.

Argus is in his fourth summer of freedom and life is good. One day melds into the next as he wanders the pastures with friends, picking carefully through the dry layers of flopped-over native ryegrass in search of the ultimate blade of grass. Occasionally he stops his grazing to stand erect and frozen, sentinel-like, as he stares at something far in the distance: a lone figure walking on a ridge-top miles away; a vineyard worker shuffling down the rows of grapes; a ghost-like coyote hunting in the hay field out back. The other horses rarely notice these things. Argus sees everything. Watches everything. His ability to stand and study the world as it moves around him was how he stayed sane when he lived in Hell. After all, his name is Argus, which means "watchful."

A nudge from a buddy, and Argus comes back to Earth. His newest friend, Dallas, is a mischievous Thoroughbred who came to board with us and has filled a tremendous void left when Half Pint died: leader. Argus, who spent a year as reluctant head of the herd, did not do well without a boss. He was more nervous, less sure of himself. When Dallas joined us last December, life became easier for Argus, more predictable. With a casual glance, Dallas 'directs' Argus, who happily complies, relieved to be second in command once again.

Ridge is in the process of re-joining the group, which includes Argus, Dallas, Odie the Mule and Indy. Four white horses and one bay make for humorous comments from visitors. (Honestly! I did not plan to have four white horses!) Today is the second day Ridge has been turned out into the small pasture with Argus, and the joy on Argus' face is palpable. His bookend buddy, his 'twin,' his best friend is finally back in action, Ridge's badly bowed tendon finally having healed itself (as best it can) after 16 months of rest and rehabilitation.

Odie, Indy and Dallas come and go from the property, off at any given moment to a horse show, riding lesson, clinic or Pony Club event. Argus tolerates this for the most part, sometimes weaving nervously as we pull away, leaving Ridge to provide comfort. When we return, Argus is often waiting in the pasture, near the front gate, and heralds our arrival home with joyous whinnies and a gallop back to the barn that would put any racehorse to shame. Argus loves to see horse trailers arrive, but hates to see them go. Despite having ridden in a horse trailer only once in his entire life, he seems to understand what they mean.

I'm grateful to the people who help Argus have the best quality of life possible. Argus lives in a body that bears the legacy of a lifetime of abuse; the people in his life work hard to make every day of freedom a happy one.

My daughters, Demi and Shelby, work tirelessly in the barn without complaint, and who share my pride in Argus' accomplishments ("Mom," Demi gushed recently, "Argus was so good for the farrier that he was the best of all the horses!")

My mom, who slips me a check every month "for Argies."

Eric White, our farrier, who works slowly and patiently with Argus, and tell me what a good horse he is.

Years of confinement have riddled his body with arthritis; Dr. Suzanne Guyton gives Argus chiropractic adjustments and coaches us on carrot stretches, an essential therapy in a horse whose neck is so arthritic that is is threatening to fuse in places.

Most of all, I am grateful to Argus' good friend Dr. Grant Miller, who saved Argus to begin with. Argus is a quiet source of comfort and pride to both of us, this horse who fills hearts with joy and the sense that even suffering can birth beauty. Recently, Dr. Miller came to inject Argus' painfully-arthritic knee joints. We sighed as we looked at his enlarged right knee, wondering how long we could keep Argus comfortable on it. We remind each other that it's about quality, not quantity, but I selfishly want both for Argus. Afterward, we took advantage of the sedation to give Argus his first full-body soap bath ever, the vet and the housewife --- two unlikely friends who share a common bond in a form of a rangy white horse. Dr. Miller took the following photos of our spa day:

Even sedated, Argus was not crazy about the water. Dr. Miller had us face him into the barn wall to discourage escape, which worked!

Once clean, we went to work with Show Sheen, brushes, and scissors. Dr. Miller and Demi were upset with me for Argus' "high and tight" mane trim. This horse has enough hair for FOUR horses and I'm not combing out a long, thick mane every week! That huge tail is enough!

Enjoy your summer, and thanks for keeping up with with the story of Argus! Meantime, check out this story on NPR's California Report about Dr. Miller and The Sonoma CHANGE Program, which rescued Argus!

Katie, Argus & the whole gang at Watermark Farm

A Shadow from the Past

2011-01-16T20:21:00.000-08:00

Argus' friend Dr. Miller recently sent me this video taken of Argus standing in the pen where he spent so many years, at the Sonoma County home of Pat Tremaine. This video was shot in November 2007 and used in the felony animal cruelty case against Tremaine (she was convicted of two counts of felony animal cruelty). It's a short clip but it shows a very neurotic Argus weaving (swaying back and forth), something I'm told he did incessantly. I watch it and it makes my stomach turn. It explains the severe arthritis in Argus' knees and neck. Thank goodness Argus no longer has to live this way. He still weaves at times, but mostly when he's anxiously waiting his big tub of dinner.

If you can believe it, this video was shot from the well-traveled road outside Argus' pen (Goodwyn Avenue in Penngrove for you locals), just two doors down from the site of an episode of "Extreme Home Makeover." If you look closely, you can see Argus' fellow prisoner, Bobby (another Thoroughbred Ms. Tremaine kept penned up for years), in the background.

It is only because enough people finally said "ENOUGH!!" and relentlessly hounded the authorities (whose hands were tied because the horses had food, water and shelter) that Argus, Bobby, Starmaker, Athena, Destiny and Sammy are free. Please speak out for voiceless animals in these situations. Often their only hope is humans who stand up for them.

Argus On YouTube --- Finally!!!

2011-01-07T12:34:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year!! Thanks to the technical skills of my teenage daughter, Argus has finally been memorialized on YouTube video. These two videos were taken on January 6th and show Argus and his friend Perigrin (the darker grey) exercising in the arena.

Enjoy!

Three Years of Freedom

2010-12-02T12:13:00.000-08:00

It's time to celebrate! In a few days, Argus will have been at Watermark Farm for three years. He'll do something low-key, like gaze at me with kind eyes while I blanket him and add a few extra carrots to his grain because, after all, Argus is a real horse now.

Our big grey boy is doing so well, and I hope you will join with me, wherever you are, to say a silent word of thanks to all the people who came together to free Argus from his prison. It has been a long haul for him, but I'm pleased to say that life is very good for Argus, and he is one happy boy.

Argus' days are a pleasant and predictable routine. He's just one of the boys here at the farm and he knows it. At night he stands quietly while I throw his big Rambo blanket over his back, and he weaves in anticipation of his big tub of feed that he knows is waiting for him in the barn. I never get tired of caring for him. It's one of those pleasures I savor, for every encounter with him is joyful. He's cooperative, kind, respectful and easy. I just adore Argus and even more I adore watching him live the life he was meant to have.

Argus continues to share a pasture with his buddies Odie the Mule (who is in serious dressage training at present), Indy the Dutch Warmblood, and my new, leased horse, a Thoroughbred from New Zealand called Perigrin. (The horses all make fun of Perigrin's kiwi accent...) I'm getting a fair amount of good-natured ribbing for my collection of greys. Argus, Indy, Perigrin and the sidelined Ridge are all greys. Odie the mule is white with brown spots. Needless to say, we go through a lot of horse shampoo here.

For those that have asked, Argus' buddy Ridge continues to be on long-term rest for a severe bowed tendon. The good news is that his most recent ultrasound showed tons of healing, and he is now handwalking. With luck and good care, Ridge will join the horses out in pasture by next June. Argus misses him, but they play over the paddock fence every day.

A few months ago, I bathed Argus and trimmed him up and made him model for some photos. Here he is in all his summer-coat glory (you didn't really want to see him covered in mud, did you?). He's posing with my daughter, Shelby, and my daughter Demi and her mule Odie.

Happy Holidays to everyone!

Katie

A Happy Summer for Argus & Valentino

2010-07-18T12:34:00.000-07:00

I'm writing this from a kitchen table in Mocksville, North Carolina, where humidity hangs in the air like a filmy curtain, and I am hiding inside, avoiding the inevitable and most desperately-needed exercise. Fried chicken, hush puppies, gravy and grits have a way of navigating one's intestines and squishing straight through to the stomach and thighs, and I'm no exception. I swear, I would weigh 400 pounds if I lived here for long.

But I bear happy news, which I'll give first. Valentino, whom I profiled on the last two blog posts, has found an adoptive home, saving his tush from euthanasia. His new owners are Caroline and Patricia, a local couple who saw a flier that led them to Val. It was love at first sight (as someone said, the photo says it all), and now Valentino is happily ensconced at a nearby full-service equine retirement facility where he will live the good life in a large pasture with three other "active retirees" and see his moms weekly. I am deeply grateful to Caroline and Patricia, who are really fine, enlightened human beings, for making Valentino part of their family.

I worried about taking Val away from Argus, who looked up to the big bay horse like a big brother, following him everywhere. Valentino was the kind alpha leader, and all of the horses liked him. He seemed to make them feel safe as he led them around the pasture. Argus especially so.

Argus' twin and Best Friend Forever, Ridge, has been on stall rest again, having severely torn a tendon in his leg. We don't honestly know if he will make it long-term, but Ridge is such a bright spirit and so full of patience for the whole process, that I decided to give it a try. Ridge being my heart horse, my soul mate, and my best friend, it pains me to see him have all these problems. He misses Argus, and Argus misses him. They nuzzle over the fence. If Ridge recovers, he will be retired from riding, and then Argus will at last have a permanent pasture companion again.

Surprisingly, Argus seemed to take Val's leaving in stride, looking wistfully at the trailer as I led Val on, and then going back to munching his hay. Argus has been especially snuggly lately, coming to the fence for a scratch or a quick hug. He's usually a rather standoffish, "businesslike" horse, not very demonstrative, so we're all pleased by his friendliness. He loves his pasture, his "brothers" Odie the Mule and Indy The New Horse. He loves evenings, when we serve him a flake of alfalfa hay. He loves coming in for a good grooming, the girls brushing out his tail until it is like a massive curtain of snow white (Argus has an impossibly thick tail).

Argus never, ever fails to make me smile.

Enjoy your summer, wherever you are. Life is good, isn't it?

An Unpleasant Surprise

2010-05-24T12:18:00.000-07:00

"Even experienced examiners may differ as to the cause of a horse's abnormal performance or gait. One reason is that many horses, which we suspect of having neurologic disease, may also be lame - the hard part is sorting out which is the most important problem."

--Tufts University, Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine website.

Surgeon Mindy McDonald and staff meet Valentino at the University of California at Davis.

Foster horse Valentino made his way to UC Davis a few weeks ago, accompanied by me, my two teen daughters, and a lot of warm wishes from supporters.

At UC Davis, we met with surgeon Dr. Mindy McDonald, who had agreed to evaluate Valentino's old splint fracture to see if it could be improved.

Dr. McDonald and her team of veterinary students and a resident gathered round. I trotted Val out. By their furrowed brows I could tell instantly that something was wrong. All of 5 seconds in to our lameness evaluation, the surgeon was sending for the neurologist, telling me that Val was showing signs of neurological trouble.

What?!?

I felt like I had stepped into the twilight zone. Wasn't I here for a surgery consult? Hadn't two vets at home looked at Val? Why hadn't they noticed neurological issues?

The neurologist and his team arrived, coaxing Valentino into a kind of a dance of walking figure 8's, having his tail pulled on, trotting in circles. "Ooooh, watch that!" said the neurologist to the students, "See that?"

A crowd develops as UC Davis students and veterinarians from both surgery and neurology gather to watch Valentino as he's put through neurological tests.

And then, as if sealing the deal, he asked me "Do you mind if we videotape this, for teaching purposes? We don't see cases like this all the time."

Sigh. Those are not the words you want to hear.

So to make a long story short, Valentino is a grade 3 out of 5 with clinical signs of neurological deficit in all four legs. That can mean one of several things, past spinal injury or a disease like EPM that affects them neurologically.

Cervical radiographs showed "severe" arthritis in Valentino's neck (C6 to C7). The vets also noticed that Val's neck muscles have some atrophy and he can't turn his neck with carrot stretches much at all. The EPM test came out negative.

If you're wondering, as I was, why the local vets did not catch this, we're not alone. Neuro issues tend to be fleeting, better some days, bad on others, with shifting leg lameness and clinical symptoms heightened by stress (a 2 hour trailer ride to Davis) and other factors. I'm told this happens all the time, that very qualified vets miss the diagnosis at home, and it's often caught when owners go to places like Davis for the "big guns."

I stood with Valentino in the xray room. He was sedated, it was dark, but the sadness of the pending diagnosis seemed to pour in on me.

The official diagnosis for Valentino is that he is a "Wobbler."

Looking back, it all makes sense. The vague lameness that seemed to move around, the wide-legged stance in front that I chalked up to Val being footsore. The lack of muscle in his neck, his slightly wooden movement when turning to look at something. I had a fear that Val's lameness might extend past his rear leg (which now seems to be completely fine!) but I never figured it would be something like this.

Surgery can improve a horse a grade, but in Valentino's case, he is not considered a candidate for surgery. Because his sense of proprioception (awareness of the limbs) is not 100%, he can never be ridden again.

Does Valentino know all this? No. He's a happy fellow who's so easy to be around. He is now out in pasture with Argus, who looks up to Valentino like a leader and follows him everywhere. They are now inseparable (Ridge is once again banished to stall rest....but that's for another post!). He is comfortable, he is not in pain. The vets all say that he can live perfectly well in retirement and that wobblers can live many years without progession of symptoms.

The sad fact now is that people are not exactly lining up to adopt an unrideable horse, let alone one that's a wobbler. I cannot keep Valentino permanently, and the rescue that is fostering him is not making much effort to place him. If I cannot find him a suitable home, he will be euthanized.

That would be such a shame. Valentino is a wonderful friend who has much to live for.

If anyone lives in Northern California who might be interested in adopting Valentino, please contact me immediately at watermarkfarm1@yahoo.com

Below is Valentino at a May 1 horse show. My daughter Demi, 15, braided him and entered him in a halter class, the only class he could do. Val was a star and took 3rd place, then stood tied to the trailer all day, munching happily. He is such a good horse.

Valentino Update: The Money Has Been Raised!! Thank You!!

2010-04-22T11:53:00.000-07:00

Thank you to all of the Argus blog readers for your support of Valentino's surgery fund. As of Tuesday, April 20, $770 had been raised ($500 single donation, $200 single donation, plus smaller donations totaling $70).

Then an amazing thing happened....A donor stepped forward and pledged to cover the remaining balance!

The next step for Valentino is a full set of radiographs (8-10 of them) of the fractured splint bone in order to determine the best method for surgical correction. SAFER (the organization that is helping Valentino) is waiting for direction from the surgeon as to where she wants these radiographs done, here at home or up at UC Davis.

From there, we hope to proceed with a surgery date!

Thank you! Updates to come as things progress.

A Shameless Plea for Valentino

2010-04-12T11:04:00.001-07:00

Watermark Farm has an unexpected foster horse, and he needs your help.

Valentino is a 14-year-old Thoroughbred gelding who raced under the Jockey Club name "Polkatime." He was bred in Maryland and raced in Illinois, earning $22,000 over the course of his career. Somehow he made it out to California for a second career as a show hunter.

Sadly, Val lost his home to a divorce and has been shuffled through two horse rescues, finally landing in foster care with Sonoma Action For Equine Rescue (SAFER). Valentino's future is uncertain due to the fact that he is not serviceably sound, and SAFER has had a hard time lately placing companion-only homes.

So how did this beautiful and wise gelding wind up in foster care at Watermark Farm? While I was horse shopping for my daughter, I met Valentino, who was quite depressed at the time, and offered to do a riding assessment for the rescue. I brought him home for what I thought was a week or so and tested his lungeing and riding skills. He's very well trained, an old show horse for sure, and he is an absolute gentleman.

Unfortunately, I also noticed that he was not sound in his left hind hock, and that it had a big, suspicious lump on the outside.

A handful of local ladies donated funds to cover some veterinary investigation for Val. I paid the vet call and exam. Sylvie covered the cost of xrays. We expected to hear that Val's hocks were a big fat mess.

Dr. Miller examined him and took some xrays. To our surprise, Val's hock joints were in decent shape for a 14-year-old former racehorse. Dr. Miller suspected the cause of the lameness to be an old, fractured splint bone head on the outside of his left hind leg. The fracture appeared to be somewhat unstable, as you can pinch it with your fingers and I swear you can feel it move.

The splint bone is a remnant of prehistoric days, when horses had three toes. These days, all that's left is a long, thin bone that sits alongside the cannon bone. Splint bones occasionally cause a horse grief if they are kicked or hit in such a way that they fracture. Time and rest usually allow them to heal without incident, and the horse goes on to be sound. Occasionally, a horse will fracture the splint bone in such a way that it causes them discomfort unless the fracture is surgically treated.

Obviously, no one ever did this for Val.

We consulted with three surgeons, all of whom requested an ultrasound exam for Val. The concern was that tendons and ligaments passing over and around this calcified fracture might already be damaged. Last week, Valentino had an exam with an ultrasound specialist, thanks again to a private donation (thanks Heidi!). To our great pleasure and surprise, Dr. Julie Wilkins said Valentino's soft structures in the hind leg/hock are "pristine" and there is no damage.

That means Valentino is a great candidate for splint removal surgery, which is a common procedure that may well restore him to a level of soundness that may allow him to be a riding horse again.

The catch? As a horse rescue, SAFER does not normally cover surgical procedures like this unless they come from donations made specifically for that purpose.

We need to raise a minimum $2,000 for Valentino, $500 to cover the cost of an series of 8-10 xrays that will pinpoint the fracture location for the surgeon, and about $1500 to cover the cost of the surgery itself.

If Valentino can have his surgery, I will donate board and care here at the farm to cover his complete rehabilitation and return to work.

This is a horse worth saving, a gentle, well trained old show hunter who likes people and other horses, is drop-dead gorgeous, and moves like a ballerina. Can you help Valentino with a tax-deductible donation to help SAFER fund his surgery?

Here is Valentino's page at the SAFER site, with photos of Valentino's appointment with Dr. Grant Miller and Dr. Julie Wilkins: http://saferhorse.com/Val%20Update.htm

Donations to help Valentino may be made to the 501(c)3 non-profit SAFER. Please mark your donation "Valentino medical fund":

To donate to SAFER via PayPal, click here.

To mail a check:

SAFER
9501 Mill Station Road
Sebastopol, CA 95472

For more information about SAFER and Valentino, please contact SAFER President Kate Sullivan at (707) 824-9543

An Argus Spring Update: Knees, Teeth...And A New Brother!

2010-03-18T13:05:00.000-07:00

For everyone that has been emailing and asking for updates, here you go!

After a very wet winter, spring is starting to emerge at Watermark Farm. For the most part, Argus has whiled away the long, bleak days with Odie and Ridge at his side. He continues to learn new things, and experience new things.

Argus loves to eat his nightly bucket of pelleted feeds in his stall, which is attached to a paddock which is attached to the pasture. He panics when we shut that paddock gate, so every night, Ridge and Odie come in from the pasture into their paddocks. Argus' gate is left open, so he can move in and out. This winter, for the first time, Argus was able to not only tolerate eating his meals inside his stall, but he LIKES it! Go figure. Each night, we we bring the horses in from turnout, Argus waits patiently in his stall for me to bring him his dinner. It amazes me that even after more than two years with us, Argus still makes changes.

Argus had his teeth floated and knees injected recently. His knees are extremely arthritic and so joint injections every 9 months are the only way to keep him pasture sound. The difference with those knee injections is incredible.

Argus goes from quivering knees that he can't straighten fully to being almost normal. Big thanks to his friend Dr. Miller for providing this service (which normally costs $500) to Argus at no cost.

Good news! When Argus arrived in foster care, his front teeth were a mess of black cavities. I'd never seen a horse with cavities like that. During Argus' recent teeth floating, Dr. Miller worked on the incisors. He noted that the cavities are disappearing! Since a horse's teeth constantly erupt, as the vet has filed them down each year, combined with Argus' good diet, the decay has stopped and now with time will simply be ground off. Dr. Miller says the cause of all this decay is because Argus was fed bacteria-laden rotting produce ---- lettuce, bell peppers, etc. The constant stream of bacteria in his feed also rotted his teeth.

Argus has had a hard time adjusting to Ridge, who is now being ridden regularly and has healed from his fractured pelvis (yay Ridge!) being taken out of the pasture and going on rides. At first, Argus panicked so much that we had to lock him in his paddock so he wouldn't run around and hurt himself. He ran himself into a lather, even if he could SEE Ridge in the arena right next to him. When we removed Odie for a ride as well, it was awful to see how miserable Argus became. With no Half Pint to stand in the pasture and calm him, this was a different experience for everyone.

Over time, and with a lot of patience, Argus is now able to tolerate our taking Ridge and Odie away in the trailer for a trail ride....as long as our sole mare (Angel) stands in the paddock next to him, AND as long as I ply him with alfalfa. It's taken several months to get to this point, but Argus is slowly getting used to having his friends come and go.

Argus' bond with Ridge and Odie is very strong, but at the same time, it's important that horses don't become so "herd bound" to each other that they cannot ever be separated for grooming, riding or farrier or veterinary care.

On New Year's Eve, we had a scary night. It seems that every person in our rural area decided to light off entire packs of firecrackers, or illegal fireworks, or shoot their guns. From 10pm to 1am, I stood in the barn, on guard. The horses were all calm, except for poor Argus, who was simply terrified of the noise and flashing lights. I could not catch Argus to calm him. A funny thing happened. I noticed that Ridge and Odie kept moving themselves so that Argus was sandwiched between them in the pasture. They stood very close to him, touching. He shook very hard. They calmly stood for hours, moving slightly to keep enclosing him. Thanks to those two sweet and brave horses, Argus made it through the night without panicking.

On a sad note, we lost our dear Shetland pony, Ginger, in February. She had been diagnosed with congestive heart failure last fall, so we knew it was coming. She lay down in the barn late one night, and could not get up. The vet came at 1am and put her to sleep. Ginger was about 35 years old, and we miss her terribly.

On a happy note....our little shrinking horse family just expanded. "Indiana Jones" is a 20 year old Dutch warmblood/Arabian cross that has joined us as a Pony Club mount for our 12 year old daughter, Shelby. Indy is also a rescue horse! It is entirely coincidental that he is also white. So this year, we'll have three white horses and one partially white mule out in the pasture. It should be fun!

(NO! This is neither Argus nor Ridge!)

Love and hugs to everyone from Argus, Ridge, Odie, Angel and their new "brother" Indy!

Christmas at Watermark Farm

2009-12-22T10:46:00.000-08:00

By popular request, here is Argus' 2008 Christmas poem.
Merry Christmas to all!

~Katie

'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS AT WATERMARK FARM

'TWAS the night before Christmas
And all through the barn
Not a creature was stirring
Anywhere on the farm

The stockings were hung
On the stall doors with care
In hopes that Saint Nicholas
Soon would be there

The horses were all snuggled
Into straw-banked beds
While visions of sweet feed
Danced in their heads

And Argus was in his blanket
Chubby Half Pint going bare
Both hoping and wishing
Santa soon would be there

When out in the arena
There arose such a clatter!
They leapt into their paddocks
To see what was the matter!

The moon on the puddles
In the wet winter pasture
Made the night light so blinding
They breathed faster and faster!

When what to their
Brown horsey eyes should appear
But a jolly red sleigh
And eight hungry reindeer

In the driver's seat sat Santa
All dressed up in red
And he winked at the horses
As they spied from their beds

Then something odd happened
The horses grew brave
And Santa addressed them
Which made them quite grave:

"Now Argus! Now Half Pint!
Now Odie and Angel!
Now Ginger and Caleb!
And Ridge in the stable!"

"To your herd mates be kind
And don't waste your hay!
Take care of your riders
And love each new day!"

As dry shavings that before
The wild hurricane fly
When they meet with the winds
Mount to the sky

And suddenly the horses
Who before felt quite shy
Felt themselves flying around
With Santa in the sky!

So around the farm
The horses they flew
They looked down on the home
They loved and they knew

And then, on the house top
They thumped on the roof
And the family inside
Heard the pounding of hooves

"What's that?" they shouted
As they woke from their beds
"We thought we heard horses
Loose overhead!"

So out to the stables
The family they ran
Where they found it quite empty
Save for the horse goat, An'

They peered at the sky
For a sign of the equines
And for a moment, saw Santa
Riding Argus just fine

Then suddenly, and quietly
The horses were there
Munching hay and looking sleepy
As if they had no cares

So the lights were extinguished
The excitement went "poof"
And the family missed Santa
Spying down from the roof

To each horse, he gave a gift
And when he got to the last
It was Argus, the white one
He'd seen on many a Christmas past

"You're a good horse, dear Argus"
Santa said with a tear,
You have suffered so long
So many a year"

"I promise you will always
Have a loving, peaceful life
With pastures and buddies
An end of all strife"

Argus thought quietly
About all the nights
And the bleak Christmases of waiting
For the arrival of light

This, his second Christmas
Of freedom and cheer
He'd been a real horse, a free horse
For more than a year

Santa sprang to his sleigh
To his team gave a whistle
And winking once more at Argus
He flew away like a missile

The horses heard him exclaim
As he drove out of sight
"Merry Christmas, dear Argus!
And to all --- a good night!"

Grateful Blanketing

2009-12-19T23:40:00.000-08:00

It may sound silly, but I feel so happy when I blanket Argus.

As with any old horse, I casually throw the big green horse jacket up over his back, where I tug and slide it until it's in position. Argus eats his grain and regards me a bit warily, but stands. Alone in the barn, I am grinning.

Buckle the chest, buckle the belly straps. Pull Argus' unfairly enormously thick tail (I swear to God, this horse has the hair of 10 horses) out from behind the poop-encrusted elastic tail strap. Say "good boy!" in my most pleased tone, offer a grateful chest rub, and slip out the door.

Contrast this with two years ago.

Argus is standing, shaking with cold, in the dark, in a paddock. He has been out of prison only two weeks now. He is not sure if any of this is real. I death-grip the halter while carefully, carefully sliding the accordion-folded blanket over his withers. He is ready to explode, but you can tell he's trying to trust me. It takes 20 minutes of coaxing and crooning to the wild-eyed Argus to get the blanket on. Afterward, as he stands, warm at last, I swear he gets it. He gets what the blanket is for.

Or a year ago.

Blanketing had become a kind of dance. Haltered, Argus would now stand, quivering but calm in his own strange way, for the first part of blanketing, the blanket-over-the-withers part. Argus would stand for the chest buckling part. But the pulling-the-blanket-back-over-the-body part made him lurch forward. One hand on his lead rope, another on the blanket. We'd get the job done. But it wasn't always that much fun.

And this account doesn't even address the unblanketing part, which is to say it was only the aforementioned in reverse, only more exciting.

That is why, as I stood tonight under the stonewashed gray-black of a misty December sky, blanketing Argus as you would any old horse, I felt a wash of gratitude at this remarkable accomplishment. In saving Argus, I often think I've saved that part of myself that, child-like, finds meaning in everyday miracles. I smiled to myself, saying reverently "for this, I am grateful!"

Two Years!

2009-12-10T09:53:00.001-08:00

For weeks after Half Pint's death, Argus walked out into the pasture every night around 10:30 pm. He'd face east, whinny four or five times into the darkness, then turn around and walk back into the barn.

Was he calling for his lost friend?

The three remaining geldings are doing well, although they remain a little sad without their herd alpha. Ridge has filled in nicely, and even though he lacks front teeth (they were removed due to gum disease), he kindly makes his point with Argus and Odie by 'gumming' them a bit when they get out of line. All in all, it works, and the three boys are managing. I think Argus does miss Half Pint quite a lot, though.

It has now been two years since Argus escaped his hell, two long, wonderful years of learning what it is to be a "real" horse. When he arrived, he was 15 going on two. Now he's 17 going on four, with the body, sometimes, of a 30-year-old.

Argus can now do all these things:

He stands quietly, even gratefully, for blanketing --- no halter, no fearful shaking, nothing! I can flip the blanket up over his back with great flourish, straps and buckles clanking noisily, just like a normal horse.

Dr. Miller can give Argus an IV injection without Argus rearing and plunging all over the stall, me twitching him and hanging on for dear life, Dr. Miller skillfully dancing in mid air in order to get the needle in. The other day, Dr. Miller came to inject Argus' painful knee joints. He gave the IV sedation right in the aisleway of the barn, and Argus just stood there, blinking calmly. Just like any other horse. I felt so proud of Argus, and Dr. Miller did, too. We celebrated by giving Argus his first monthly Legend injection, an IV shot that is helping Argus' arthritic joints so much that he is dancing in pasture again. Soon, I will be the one administering this injection. I never thought I'd be able to give this horse an IV shot.

Argus can come into his stall and paddock for a short time without getting frantic and weaving. In fact, he even likes it. Every evening, he stands at the gate to his paddock, knowing that a big tub of fattening food awaits him inside.

Argus has a best friend. He and Ridge move together through the pasture in unison. They look so much alike in their matching green blankets that I can only tell them apart by looking at their tails --- Argus has a much thicker, longer tail. He and Ridge have an unusual bond for horses. They do everything literally attached at the hip, grazing cheek-to-cheek for hours on end.

He can stand quietly when the farrier trims him. He no longer jumps when the farrier drops his tools. Argus cooperates. Argus likes the farrier. When Argus came to us, he had never had his feet trimmed, or even picked up, before. Now Argus likes it when people handle his feet.

Argus no longer stands for hours and hours, staring at things far away. His eyes, which were flat and shark-like two years ago (my theory is that he developed great distance vision, and poor up-close vision from 15 years of staring at distant objects), are now warm and brown and they actually see you. Argus looks at me with happy eyes, and much is said in his gaze.

Even so, old habits die hard. We often say that Argus is like a little old man hermit who peers out at the busy world around him through a curtained window. When the vineyards next to us are full of workers, Argus stands for long minutes, quivering, head high, alert, shaking, watching, studying. If on a cold day, the geysers to the north of us send plumes of steam up from the hills, Argus watches them, frozen. He gets excited and takes a break from his staring by doing his "dressage workout." Last week I watched him canter perfect 20 meter circles in the front pasture, punctuated by long, straight lines where he perfected his tempi changes. At one point, he was cantering calmly along, changing his lead every third stride. Those dressage riders who have schooled this movement know how demanding it is to teach. For our athletic Argus, even riddled with arthritis, dressage comes surprisingly easy.

When I enter the stall, Argus used to walk into his paddock, standoffish and not wanting me in his space. Close contact with people was something to be avoided. Now he stands, calmly eating his grain, and doesn't leave. He likes it if I scratch his neck, speaking softly to him while he eats. He even comes to the fence to see people now.

He's interested in us now. He wants to be haltered. He loves to be groomed. He's happy to be led out of the pasture and into the barn for some "beauty parlor time."

Day after day, he makes progress in small ways. I am amazed that after two years, he's still changing, still learning new things, still trusting us more and more, still growing, still becoming a horse, and discovering more and more joy. Just seeing him out in the pasture gives me the greatest rush of pleasure.

I am proud of Argus, and I tell him so every night as I buckle his blanket on. He stands, calmly munching his beloved tub of food, and looks at me as if to say: I am proud of myself, too.

Please note: Due to adult-content spam showing up in the 'comments' section, I have disabled the ability to post anonymously. I am sorry for the inconvenience and hope you understand the need to keep the material on this blog safe and appropriate for all ages.

And Then There Were Three

2009-10-10T21:21:00.000-07:00

Our beautiful, mischievous half Percheron Half Pint went on his last adventure yesterday, leaving us for the Rainbow Bridge and heavenly pastures free from pain.

A former PMU foal who had a rough start in life, Half Pint struggled with many health issues during his short eight years of life. From colic surgery to chronic lameness to his final bout of illness, Half Pint was a frequent flyer at UC Davis and Pioneer Equine Hospital, earning from us the begrudging nickname "our $18,000 free horse."

Of course, the $18,000 free horse won our hearts a long, long time ago.

Half Pint had been sick over the past month, but in his usual stoic way, he was brave to the end, fooling us into thinking he was not very sick. It is suspected that he had lymphoma, abdominal cancer that filled his abdomen with fluid and exhausted his heart. He was, as the vet so bluntly put it, "trying very hard to die." We, of course, helped him out, and he crumpled to the ground with the greatest of relief, free at last.

His passing leaves a huge void here at Watermark Farm, for he was more like a person than a horse with his sense of humor (stealing tools and sweatshirts), destructive ways (his record being two 2x6s in a weekend) and larger-than-life personality (visitors always wanted to meet him). Half Pint was also the head of his little herd of four, which are now a sad-eyed white trio who are lost and adrift tonight without their 'brother.'

Argus, Ridge and Odie stood nearby in their paddocks, watching everything. Knowing. Half Pint, his heart raging at 90 beats per minute, lumbered slowly into the pasture with me. I cried and told him what would happen, and how much I loved him. Then the vet came to give Half Pint his gift of a humane death. Half Pint slipped away peacefully. Then I turned Argus, Odie and Ridge out with Half Pint for a final goodbye.

The pictures say it all.

Half Pint
2001 - October 9, 2009

Adjustments

2009-08-29T09:41:00.000-07:00

Happy Argus, who now ambles through life, and his pasture, without a care in the world. It's a far cry from the long days stuck in a pen, where weaving and staring at things in the distance whiled away an endless sentence.

Sure, shadows of the Old Life are not far away. Argus, who has the mind of a four-year-old and the body of a 30-year-old (even though he's only 17) stands on knees so arthritic he cannot straighten them fully. Regular joint injections and 24/7 movement keep the pain at bay, but it's still hard to watch Argus lay down. He bends his knees as far as they will go (which isn't far enough!), and kind of shakes all over as he flops down, hard, on his side.

Occasionally, Argus experiences being "out" in his upper neck, where some upper cervical vertebrae form a logjam, an event so profoundly painful that he cannot lower his head, eat or drink or be touched, even to be haltered. It lasts for a day or two, me plying him with raised buckets and feed bags to no avail. The vet comes out and stands, worried. His best drugs seem no match for the ghost of Argus' past.

So occasionally, Argus sees the chiropractor. In this case, it's Dr. Suzanne Guyton, who cheerfully comes to the farm every 8 weeks or so to work on the horses (and one dog). I met Dr. Guyton six years ago, and have been amazed by her work ever since.

When she first met Argus, her face was troubled as she examined him. I was not disillusioned about her ability to help him. After all, he'd lived in a pen since he was a weanling, living on stale french bread and passing the years of his growth and development without enough movement to accomplish these things normally.

His entire pelvis and sacrum were a mess, so badly fixated and jammed that not one joint in the structure functioned normally. Dr. Guyton was amazed he could walk at all. His back nearly as bad, and his neck....she let out a gasp, and looked at me sadly. "Well," she said quietly, looking at me as if she were telling me I had only weeks to live, "we'll do whatever we can."

A few days ago, Dr. Guyton worked on Argus. As usual, his neck was a mess, the first three vertebrae, including the giant C-1 (aka, "the Atlas") all rotated and jammed against each other, functioning not as several distinct joints but one. Dr. Guyton freed them up, then asked me to do daily "carrot stretches" with Argus. He nodded his head in agreement!

When Dr. Guyton worked on Argus' hind end, she beamed at me with joy! After a few quick adjustments, she proudly pronounced his sacrum to be in fully-functioning condition, the joints moving nicely and in a healthy way. This horse, whom we never thought could be normal behind, was now normal behind! Hooray for Argus!

Argus loves seeing the chiropractor or the farrier, because he knows he will be plied with a soothing bucket of alfalfa-molasses. Afterward, he strolled calmly back out to pasture, where Ridge, Half Pint, and Odie waited eagerly for him.

At the water tub, Ridge and Argus compared their reports cards from the chiropractor, Ridge characteristically boasting to Argus about his A+ verus Argus' B. Ridge is like Argus' big brother, bossy at times but very protective of him. During Ridge's entire 9 month period of confinement for his pelvic fracture, he saw the chiropractor and bodyworker on a monthly basis. It paid off, keeping the rest of his body functioning as well as possible while his bone healed. Now Ridge and I are embarking on a 30 day groundwork period; by October, I hope to sit on him for the first time in more than a year. He is doing well --- and 23 years old! (That's Argus on the left).

Just a day or so ago, I was up early. Argus stood alone out in the front pasture, and as happens so often these days, I was thinking about how beautiful he is as he stopped to stare at something in the vineyard

It lasted only a moment, as Argus rarely finds the need to stare off into the distance for very long these days. Soon, his head drifted back to earth as Argus marched off in search of another tasty blade of grass.

A Long, Dry Spell

2009-08-15T10:33:00.000-07:00

"No pressure," starts one e-mail, "but it's been a long time, and we'd really like to know what is happening with Argus."

So begins one of the many e-mails that have started coming in of late, making me feel sheepish and guilty. Busy with family, work and life, with little energy for creativity, I have been hiding from myself, bled dry by a strange run of bad luck at Watermark Farm.

The gray cloud that began with the death of our sweet old horse, Deema, and continued with Argus' illness and a string of troublesome events at Watermark Farm, ended one day in July, as strangely and suddenly as it began. I stepped on a board long lurking in some tall weeds, its principal thorn a three inch nail that plunged through my shoe, shock and foot. Screaming in pain and sobbing for my mother (in the end, only the bashful but sweet house painters working nearby would do), I thought, with an odd kind of relief: "It's over! My run of bad luck is over!"

And it was. It is.

What I've realized lately is that not only does the world need good news in the form of stories about Argus and his friends, but I need that good news, too. I've missed reading about Argus, too.

It's ironic that, in the midst of all my troubles, Argus, who has needed so much for so long, remained steadfast, a brave little white knight living quietly out in pasture, when everything else around me seemed to be coming unglued.

The whole gang is back together again --- Argus, Half Pint the Percheron, Odie the Mule and (Yes!) Ridge of the Broken Pelvis. The book-ends are together once again, Ridge having healed enough to be transitioned back into turnout (You can insert Ridge's emphatic "Hallelujah!" here) over the course of the summer. Argus was thrilled to be back with his soul-mate. It's harder than ever to tell the two apart when they are grazing far away out in pasture. This year, however, Argus' tail is LONGER than Ridge's. In fact, he's got the most amazing, thick, wavy, wonderful tail of any horse on the ranch.

Last night my daughter, Demi, came in from feeding. "Mom," she said proudly, "Argus has become a real love bug. He actually wanted to come in to a paddock tonight, and he wanted me to pet him!" She gave me a big, wide grin while we discussed plans for a weekend "Beauty Treatment" for Argus (a fancy way of saying we will groom him, bang his tail, and trim his mane and whiskers).

Sometimes it's hard for me to believe that, after all this time (It's been nearly 21 months since Argus escaped from prison), this sweet old soul is still making progress. They are little things, new things, that no one would think twice about, like Argus 'asking' to come into a paddock for a few hours in the evening, or trotting across an entire pasture just to greet me at the fence. He's not a demonstrative horse, or a "pocket pony" in any way. He's just Argus, quiet, somewhat aloof, but tender and deep.

Argus loves our horse trailer, and associates it with excitement: the arrival or departure of a horse, mostly Odie, as he travels to and from Pony Club meetings, lessons and horse shows. Our driveway runs along one side of the pasture, and every time I come home, horse trailer in tow, Argus is there, head raised, body quivering with a nervous pleasure, leading the procession of equine greeters that stand along the pasture fence. He gives a shrill call, "Helloooo!" and then is the first to gallop back to the barn, where he will greet his long-lost (or so he thinks) pasture-mate with glee.

Odie has been coming and going a lot this summer, his horse show schedule keeping him busier than ever. He and Demi did well at the county fair this year, coming home with reserve high point and a ticket to the State Fair "Best of Show" horse show at Cal Expo in Sacramento. (They will compete in the English Equitation division there on September 3rd) They also competed in the "Fun in the Sun" Pony Club rally in Elk Grove, near Sacramento, braving 110-degree heat and coming away with Demi's highest Training Level, Test 1 score ever, 66% (pretty good for a mule who doesn't really go on the bit).

If you've stayed awake long enough to make it through the photos of my kid and her mule, then I've got a wonderful surprise for you! I am pleased to introduce the NEW Sonoma CHANGE Program blog. The CHANGE Program is the organization that helped Animal Control take Argus and Bobby out of their lifelong prison. It was a fledgling non-profit in 2007, and Argus was their first official foster horse. Since then, I've become a volunteer and supporter of their efforts.

I hope you'll enjoy this new weekly blog, edited by yours truly! (And check back here for more updates on Argus and friends. We're back on a weekly basis)

~Katie, Argus and the entire gang at Watermark Farm

A Real Hero to Argus........ Dr. Grant Miller

2009-06-08T11:17:00.000-07:00

In 2007, large animal veterinarian Dr. Grant Miller and three friends formed the non-profit organization CHANGE, or, Coins to Help Abandoned and NeGlected Equines. Their mission was simple: to create a network of support for Sonoma County Animal Care & Control to call on in equine cruelty cases. Since then, CHANGE has helped the Sonoma County District Attorney's office pursue rigorous prosecution of horse abuse cases that previously would never have made it to the courtroom at all.

CHANGE's first case involved two Thoroughbred geldings who had spent the better part of 15 years living confined to 12 x 16 mare motel pens and surviving on stale bread and lettuce. Argus (memorialized here on this blog) and his companion, Bobby, were the first horses to enter foster care under the CHANGE Program. Dr. Miller recalls the December day in 2007 when he and Animal Control were finally empowered to remove the horses from their Penngrove home. It took an hour for Dr. Miller to simply catch and halter the semi-wild Argus in his small pen.

Dr. Miller has recently been honored by the American Red Cross for being a "Hometown Hero." Enjoy this YouTube video interview with Dr. Miller --- a truly special veterinarian and human being.

The Jungle

2009-05-30T08:44:00.000-07:00

Late spring rains spawn a jungle, a pasture eye-deep in silvery spent oats and scraggly wild mustard. White feverfew blossoms--they are everywhere this year--brush the horses' knees, their chrysanthemum-like scent wafting upward. The leader for the moment, Odie winds his way through the tangled plants, following, like an explorer, the trace of a path worn into the grass last summer. It's barely visible, but Odie presses on, his eyes blinking protectively as the plants gently slap his sides. Behind him, nose pressed tightly into the mule's scrawny tail, Argus follows along, his expression merry. Rounding out the trio of adventurers is Caleb, who uncharacteristically walks last in line. On occasion, Argus glances nervously at the alpha horse fast on his tail.

They emerge from the thick part of the pasture and hit an open stretch of shorter grass, breaking into a ground covering trot as they push onward toward Neighbor Jim's gate. It's summer, after all, and that means that Neighbor Jim has once again gifted his three acres of nirvana to the Watermark Farm horses for a season of eating pleasure.

Odie explodes through the gate, crossing the line as if he's a man on the run. Behind him Argus and Caleb float along effortlessly in their ground-covering trot. They look left and right, brown eyes big and wide. The three horses stop suddenly and snort loudly, heads suddenly shot up high. They remind me of a trio of little boys, hard at work pretending.

Suddenly, the predator is visible. The horses stop, stiffen, tremble.

Argus becomes the leader, bravely stepping out in front of the others. Watching them, you get the feeling that this is all just an elaborate game, an adventure of three horse friends.

Ahead of the brave explorers, in Neighbor Jim's front pasture (which adjoins the one our horses enjoy), the interlopers stand at the fenceline, staring. They are Neighbor Tony's unusual band of family pets: two Brahma bulls, a mother goat, and her little white kid.

The adult bull is enormous, and fearsome-looking, with a huge hump that sways when he walks, and a dewlap of loose skin that flops downward from his chest, drifting past his knees like a giant lap blanket. He's accompanied by his constant companion, a smaller yearling bull rescued as a newborn from an auction last year. Standing on top of the bigger bull's back is the tiny white baby goat, who uses him as a moving mountain. We have watched in absolutely amazement as the papa bull lets this baby play all over him. He moves carefully around her.

I trudge through the drying grass, annoyed at the millions of foxtail stickers that are filling my paddock boots and attaching themselves greedily to my wool socks. I am the fourth horse, trailing the herd silently, watching this showdown between two neighboring gangs unfold.

I smile, knowing the horses and the bulls and the goats all know -- and like -- each other, and the posturing is simply for fun and effect.

Argus stops just short of the common fence, coming to an elegant and controlled halt just ten feet away from the bulls, who regard him with a bored expression as they chew the summer grass. I'm pleased and happy that Argus gets to be an adventurous boy, enjoying pasture games with his companions and developing friendships with Brahma bulls and tiny goats. How far we've come, I think.

At the fence, I perform the now familiar task of scratching the big bull's head, ignoring the gamey intact-male perfume that I know will permeate my skin. I weave my hand through a square in the fence, finding an expectant bovine on the other side. Papa bull sighs gently as I massage his ears and forehead. It took me a few weeks to work up the courage to do this, even knowing that these bulls were pets, and friendly (although I would never walk through their pasture). Occasionally, the big bull runs his rough tongue appreciatively across my salty arm, seemingly trying to return the favor in his graceful gesture. I chatter away at him, with my free hand poking stems laden with oats through the fence. He takes them politely and chews thoughtfully. We regard one another with great admiration. He's my very first bovine friend ever.

From behind me, the three horses watch, their game of jungle explorer over.

Soon, it's time to return to the house, and the mundane tasks of life: starting dinner; pleading with children to complete their chores; feeding dogs, cats, chickens and horses. I bid my four-legged neighbors goodbye, and slowly trudge through the scratchy pasture, lost in thought. Ahead of me, my house and barn are warmed by soft pink and yellow evening light. I think about my love for my family and my gratitude at my good fortune, the luck I have to be healthy and able to enjoy this all. To be here on this farm, surrounded by people and animals and the always changing dance of nature, is a dream come true. And then there's Argus.

As if on cue, I feel a warm breath on my elbow. The normally shy and reclusive (even with me) Argus is walking alongside me. "Hi buddy," I say softly as I reach out and touch his neck. He sighs once, his eyes peaceful and content, as we purposefully follow the path that leads us home.

A Phoenix Rising

2009-04-19T11:53:00.000-07:00

ALL BOY, with impish dark brown eyes and a sharp wit, my son Ethan ambled dreamily through eye-high grass in the big front pasture, singing.

Spring is coming!
Spring is coming!
All around is fair
Shimmer, glimmer, on the river
Joy is everywhere!
Joy is everywhere!

Spring is coming!
Spring is coming!
Flowers waking too
Daisies, lillies, daffodillies
Now are coming through!
Now are coming through!

Eight years old and usually focused on building spaceships or digging giant holes in the yard, Ethan wandered the grassy field, lost in dreams of Spring. His sweet melody floated out across the yard, where it delighted my ears as I quietly stepped from the house to listen. My lower eyelids filled with plump, warm tears, blurring my vision pleasantly as I stood there leaning against the door frame, listening, smiling and feeling like the luckiest woman on Earth.

I tucked this moment away; it will make for pleasant recollection when I am a crusty old woman someday, the sweet remembrance of the spring day when I was a youthful 40, and my happy little boy stood singing in the pasture. Then I noticed that a few feet away, on the other side of the fence, Argus stood quietly in the winter dry lot, his head cocked, his eyes far away, listening reverently.

Spring has come to Watermark Farm, splashing wildflower pastels---mustard, lupine, daisies---across our fields as though Monet himself made a guest visit from Heaven and consented to decorate. The lone old flowering pear tree that stands sentinel at the farm's entrance, marking each season with her mood, erupted into a 30-foot-high mass of white flowers last month. On a windy day at the end of March, the loose blossoms tumbled across the front yard, like lazy drifts of snow.

Now, shiny emerald leaves signal the true arrival of Spring, promising shade and comfort for the dry, silvery California summer months ahead. The rainy season over for the most part (what little we did get), and the pasture ground firm enough to withstand the exuberant traffic of equine feet, it's time for the annual tradition of transitioning the winter-weary horses to pasture.

Argus, fresh from his most recent round of "perfect" blood-work (one last test to make sure he is truly beyond the grips of Pigeon Fever), is a changed horse. Something has happened over the last few weeks, something wonderful. His body has developed a kind of substance that I never thought I'd see, as if his muscles needed yet another spring in freedom to come to life. (Or, as a friend more bluntly put it: "Wow! Look at his ASS! He's RIPPED!" Secretly, I think Argus liked hearing that.)

Spring 2009:

Compared to Spring 2008. Argus' "knocked down hip," an old, healed fracture, is plainly visible, as is the top of his sacrum, which lacks surrounding muscle and shows, in its unevenness, its "hunter bump" which indicate past strain or injury to the area. This is quite common in working horses.

Seemingly overnight, Argus has turned into a big, strong horse, no longer pitifully waifish and wasp-waisted in stature, but solid, powerful, opinionated. He's feeling so good that I've taken to leaving a safety halter on him in turnout because he's naughty at times and refuses to let me catch him.

Ethan and his dad finished repairing the summer pasture gate, torn loose from its hinges by the lions of March. Argus, Odie and Half Pint, as if sensing (and savoring) my intentions for the afternoon, stood eagerly at the gate to freedom --- the gate between the winter dry lot and the 6 acres of barrel-deep grass beyond. Half Pint twitched with excitement, holding his breath as he does sometimes. Argus weaved madly, something he never does in pasture. Odie paced forward and back in his odd mule way, grunting softly.

(You may notice Caleb missing from the pictures. No, he's not been adopted yet. He's gone into full training at a hunter/jumper barn nearby. Ridge, of course, is sadly left behind in the barn, still recovering from a fractured pelvis.)

The sing-songy little voice reached me again, as I unlatched the gate.

"....Joy is everywhere!"

Like three Thoroughbreds bursting from the starting gate, Argus, Odie and Half Pint lunged for the summer pasture, barely getting through the gate before the urge to stick their nose in the tall grass overcame them, and they began to eat. "Only one hour today, you three," I reminded them sternly, but my words only fell on happy, deaf ears.

From Hell To Heaven: Starmaker's Journey

2009-03-24T12:09:00.000-07:00

All good stories have a happy ending:
Today, Starmaker lives at a beautiful private farm, where he spends his days in pasture and his nights in a warm barn where the door to the outside world is always open.

ONCE UPON A TIME, more than 20 years ago, a horse named Starmaker was born on a hobby ranch in Sonoma County, California. The much anticipated result of a union between two Polish Arabians, Starmaker was a handsome foal.

As Starmaker grew, his owner made sure he received a solid education. He spent some time in training with a local cowboy named Dennis Reis. Starmaker learned to carry pack equipment. He became a wonderful riding horse. Sturdy and gentle, he proudly carried children on their first ride.

Starmaker's owner liked to boast about her fine horses and their fine breeding, but she had strange ideas about what made for good horse husbandry. A local oddity on the horse scene, she had a reputation for being hostile and mean-tempered to both horses and humans. As the years ticked by, Starmaker noticed that his shabby home was even shabbier. The barns, the fencing, even Starmaker himself looked shabby. He looked around at his companions and realized that it had been a long, long time since any of them had been cared for. His owner mostly sat in the old house now, trash piled high against its walls. When she came out to feed him, her eyes sparkled with a strange combination of love and disgust.

Convicted of two counts of felony animal cruelty, Pat Tremaine Clivio watches as her horse, Athena, is seized by authorities. Blind, confused, and in pain as a result of untreated uveitis, Athena was put to sleep a few days later.

The owner had strange ideas about each of the horses. She was proud of their breeding and backgrounds, but refused to give them even the most basic of care. Starmaker was most worried about the two Thoroughbreds, for Argus and Bobby had been locked in their pens for many years. Poor Argus rocked back and forth madly, staring off into space and wearing a deep rut in the ground. Starmaker could only look on, his desperation growing.

Athena, Sammy and Destiny lived in the pasture with Starmaker most of the time, but they never knew when their owner would come and put them in the stalls or pens and leave them there for months on end. Starmaker and his companions grew to fear going inside a building.

They longed for hay, and good pasture grass, but the two acres they inhabited was grazed down quickly. Their owner fed them stale french bread and old produce. She kept tons of hay neatly stacked and tarped, but Starmaker knew the hay was just for looks. It had sat there for years and had never been used.

Unlike some of the horses, Starmaker was old enough that he remembered what it was like to have his feet trimmed. That hadn't happened for many years. Sometimes, his hooves seemed to ache, they were so long. Not long enough to draw attention, but long enough to hurt.

What Starmaker could not know is how many times the neighbors called for help for him and his friends, and how many people pleaded with his owner to give the horses better care. He could not know that more than 20 years of worry and anguish were about to come to an end. That people could no longer stand to drive by and see the six horses rotting away slowly, day by long day.

One cold December day, as Starmaker watched the rats scamper across the stale bread loaves piled high in the mare motel, the farm became a hive of activity. Pickup trucks pulled in, and people gathered. They murmured amongst themselves. Starmaker was hopeful: Could they be bringing hay? Brushes? Might they trim his aching feet?

Gently, the people tended to the two horses locked in the pens: Argus and Bobby. Starmaker could not remember the last time he had seen either of them leave the mare motel. It took 45 minutes for the veterinarian to catch Argus in a 12 x 24 pen. Starmaker ached for Argus, who, not being used to human touch, was terribly frightened. Two nice ladies took them away in a trailer, promising him they would have happy new homes. It would be the last time Starmaker would ever see them.

The veterinarian looked at Starmaker, Sammy, Athena and Destiny. He quietly wormed them, and held them while a farrier trimmed their feet. The veterinarian looked sad, too. He knew he could not take them out of this place today. He wished he could.

Life went on as usual for Starmaker and his friends. He assumed it would always be like this, a dismal symphony of stomping and swishing at flies, the sting in his eyes as they swelled in the summer heat, the lack of real food, his ribs showing some, but not enough. He watched as their feet became long and painful again. And he watched as sweet Athena lost her sight, first in one eye, then in another. Her eyes bulged painfully after that, red and angry. She stood with her ear cocked curiously toward the world, relying on her companions to guide her. Only strong Sammmy (or Samantha as she was called) seemed to fluorish, a half-wild, unhandled and unbroken spirit. Starmaker attributed this to Sammy's royal Trakehner breeding.

Starmaker could not know that people at the District Attorney's office and Animal Services were working very hard on his behalf. He also did not know that the veterinarian was a volunteer with an organization called the Sonoma County CHANGE Program, which helped horses in his situation. He could not know that every two weeks, the vet himself or the lady that had adopted Argus drove by his pasture, just to check on him. The lady would stop her white Suburban in the road outside his paddock and talk to him over the fence. She whispered urgent promises to him, but always drove away crying.

One Fall day, while Starmaker and his friends were munching on bread and lettuce, life as he knew it changed forever. His owner, Pat Tremaine Clivio, who had been charged with felony animal cruelty for her confinement and treatment of Argus and Bobby, was found guilty of her crime. Part of her punishment would be losing the rest of her horses. At long last, Starmaker, Sammy, Athena and Destiny would be safe.

Or so they thought.

Faced with the imminent loss of her "beloved" horses, the guilty owner quickly moved Starmaker, Destiny and Sammy to a hiding place across town. The people who had worked so hard to get Starmaker to safety were outraged! How could this happen? Where were the horses? Where had she taken them?

Two former law enforcement officers who liked to sneak around offered to help, their eyes glinting with determination. They asked around, they slithered through the tall dry grass. They held cameras with telephoto lenses until at last, in a pasture on the east side of Santa Rosa, they found the horses! They found Starmaker, Sammy and Destiny alive and well.

The blind Athena was left behind, all alone in her home of many years.

The move, and all the hiding, had been hard on Starmaker. Under his winter coat, he was thin and tired.

A flurry of urgent meetings and phone calls ended with a judge's seizure order. Forces mobilized. The white trucks and the trailers came again. The same veterinarian who had come before was there, which made Starmaker feel better. All around them were smiles and kind hands, catching them, leading them into trailers. Sammy happily climbed into a trailer to be taken to a foster barn. Starmaker and Destiny were taken together to another foster barn where they had their feet trimmed, their teeth floated, and were treated to the best hay they had ever eaten. But best of all, people came every day to brush Starmaker and clean his eyes, and help him feel presentable again.

Starmaker, knowing that he was now tattered and old beyond his years, wondered if anyone would ever ride him again. He suppposed not, him being so thin and bedraggled and worn out now. He even had cancer on his penis, something called squamous cell carcinoma. Starmaker knew he was no longer beautiful.

Once again, Starmaker could not know that the wheels of fortune were in motion yet again. The lady in the white Suburban, the one who had talked to him so many times over the fence, was determined to find him a wonderful home. She knew this would not be easy, for most people don't want to adopt a horse with cancer. Even though the veterinarian had promised to try treating Starmaker's tumors, the reality was that Starmaker might not be long for this world.

One day, a mother of young children called her. "I want to help a rescue horse," she said. The Suburban lady felt the words escape her lips: "If you want to help, would you consider adopting a horse with cancer?" She could hardly believe she'd said it.

The next day, the mother of young children called her back. She had discussed it with her family, and they had all agreed: Starmaker would have his final home with them.

That was in December, not so long ago for us, but a lifetime to Starmaker. Neglected for so many years, Starmaker's health has improved beyond any expectation. His tumors are being treated, and everyone has high hopes for him. By night, he lives in a beautiful barn; by day he roams a large green pasture with his fancy warmblood girlfriend. He loves his family, including his devoted groom and the two young children who see not an old horse, but a gallant steed. But he mostly loves their mother, the one who wanted to help, and who smiled and said "yes" to being the last stop on Starmaker's journey.

From Starmaker's New Mom:

Last night we had a party....During the party the guests wandered into the barn to give carrots, and I told Star's story. The best part is that they were all oogling him, and going on and on about how beautiful he was, and how fancy. It was amazing!!
Star actually came to the front of the stall, and all the guests fed him carrots. He ate it up (literally) and he even tried to get closer and come out into the aisle. I stood with my back to his chest, nestled under his neck, to keep him in while all the guest greeted him. He felt so special, and you could tell for the first time, he really believed he was deserving of the admiring glances. It struck me that something transformed in him. Like he was now living the life that he could have only dreamed of. That people didn't look past him or pass by, but that they saw beauty in him and stopped to appreciate him. I was stunned how relaxed he was with the crowd. He just seemed to say, yes...this is the attention and love I have looked for my whole life. This is good.

What a moment. Of all our darling and beautiful horses, he got the most attention. He had a look in his eye like "I have arrived. I am as special, beautiful and fancy as the rest. I deserve this attention." And he IS and he DOES!

Thank you for asking us to take Starmaker, it has been a gift to my soul. It is far more rewarding and touching than I could have imagined. It feels so good to give a second chance to a helpless creature that is so deserving. And how rewarding to see him thrive!!!

Starmaker's happy ending is the result of years of hard work by so many determined people: Pat Tremaine's long-suffering neighbors; the determined volunteers of the Sonoma County CHANGE Program; Grant Miller, DVM; the Sonoma County District Attorney's office; Sonoma County Animal Care & Control; and the wonderful family who opened their hearts to Starmaker.

Busy.....But Not Dead

2009-03-22T10:42:00.000-07:00

I've been hard at work focusing on creative, fulfilling activities like taxes and corporate paperwork. Sorry for the break in posts.

Argus is just fine.
I'll post an update tomorrow.

~Katie

Andy The Goat, 2001 - 2009

2009-02-27T09:56:00.000-08:00

Andy spent every day out in pasture with his friends. To the left is Odie; Half Pint is the black horse in the background. That's Argus in the center.

ANDY THE GOAT died suddenly Wednesday morning, quietly bringing to an end our eight-year odyssey with a goat who truly believed he was a horse.

Years ago, a local cattle rancher brought me a tiny baby goat, orphaned after his mother was killed by a mountain lion. She had named him "Orphan Andy." He fit in the palm of my hand, and for weeks, we took turns bottle feeding him.

Metamorphosed by love and good pasture, Andy grew into a strapping young man, tipping the scales at 180 pounds. Andy became an escape artist, prompting the installation of thousands of dollars of new fencing. He killed a couple of young trees along the way, and once, in a daring escape, managed to decimate my heirloom rose collection. We joked that Andy's nickname was "You F$%#@&G Goat!" Love and frustration filled my veins in those early days of goatkeeping.

Andy learned that he could open stall door latches with his lips. He once let six horses out of their stalls. I came home to the entire equine population running around the barnyard. Of course, Andy had opened the feedroom door as well, prompting a grain-bin raid. Fortunately, I arrived home in time to curtail any damage to equine or property.

When Andy's goat companion, Billy Bob, died several years ago, he was left alone. Last summer, I decided that he was lonely and would be happier living with my neighbor's goat herd. I dragged Andy down the road, assuring him he'd love being with his own kind. He eyed the strange creatures suspiciously, refused to get near them, then jumped the five foot fence and ran for home. I put him back with the horse herd and never mentioned goats to him again.

Andy loved the horses and truly seemed to feel he was one of them. He particularly loved Half Pint the Percheron, who was always careful not to step on his friend, and who went out of his way to share with Andy any treat that came his way. Half Pint guarded Andy in the pasture, and when frightened, Andy would run and hide between Half Pint's legs.

At night, Andy, having been turned out with the horses for the day, returned to the safety of the barn, where he bedded down in a stall and paddock with Odie the Mule. Odie, not as starry-eyed as Half Pint in his relationship with Andy, nevertheless treated the goat kindly. Each evening, the two, with half-closed eyes, shared a mound of hay pellets. Afterward, Andy would settle down in the corner of the stall, in a special mound of straw just for him.

The rest of the horses barely put up with Andy. A few, Argus and Ridge included, openly disliked him, sending him dirty looks and the occasional hoof raised in threat.

Lately, Andy, who tested positive last year for Caprine Arthritis Encephalitis (CAE is a common joint and lung disease in goats), had been coughing at night and wasn't usual perky self. Dr. Miller, who also treats goats, was summoned. On Monday, he examined Andy, noting a muffled-sounding heart.

Still, Andy seemed happy and energetic enough to drag me around the stall as I attempted to restrain him. Half Pint the Percheron stood nearby during the exam, looking mildly amused.

Treatment and drugs were discussed. We talked about lungworm and pneumonia and heart problems in goats. A plan was made, drugs dispensed, and Tuesday evening I bid goodnight to Andy, happily munching his late evening treat with Odie at his side.

It was to be our last time together.

Sometime around 9:00 am on Wednesday, between the early morning feed and my mid-morning appearance to clean stalls and school horses, Andy was called home. I found him at 10:30, lying on his side in the stall, still very warm, so shortly gone from his body that it took my stethoscope to convince me that Andy was truly dead.

Alone in the barn, save for the frightened mule who had just witnessed his friend's death, I allowed my shock and sadness to overtake me, shedding loud tears over Andy's lifeless body, saying over and over "Oh Andy, I'm so sorry!"

The mule watched me from the paddock, his huge brown eyes wide with questions. Was he grieving? Shocked? Sad? Confused? Had he sensed this coming in the days prior, as I had? Odie had refused daytime turnout, instead staying in the paddock with Andy on Monday and Tuesday.

I took Odie out of the paddock, and brought Half Pint in. He approached the goat carefully, almost in disbelief. Using his big meaty nose, Half Pint lifted Andy's triangular head off the ground, over and over and over. He seemed to be trying to wake him up. Half Pint is known for these antics when he's been taken to say goodbye to horse friend's body. He once climbed on top of our old mare's body and half lay down on her.

Half Pint really did love Andy. He put up with him like no other horse here ever has, strange considering that Half Pint is not particularly gentle. He stood for a long time with Andy's body, nudging him and breathing into his nose. Then, he took a big deep sigh and walked away. "I'm really sorry you've lost your buddy," I offered. He regarded me with a pained expression as he retreated to the farthest corner of the paddock to sun himself.

I'm long past wondering if animals grieve. I've seen it too many times to doubt that they have relationships and connections that transcend our limited understanding. Watching Half Pint and Odie cope with the loss of Andy this week, I have no doubt that they miss him tremendously.

Late that afternoon, Dr. Miller reappeared, this time wielding gloves, two hunting knives, and a serious pair of tree pruners which would, under different circumstances, have had me green with a gardener's envy. I'd asked him to do a necropsy on Andy, the first time I've ever had a necropsy done on one of my animals. I'd decided I could not bear, this time around, to cope with the haunting mystery of death. I wanted to know why.

"Are you sure you're OK? I rarely do this with a client present," said the vet as he prepared for the necropsy. I was strangely OK about being present for it, feeling as though I was honoring Andy by bearing witness to this last chapter of his existence.

I had carefully laid Andy's body out on a sheet of plywood, next to a large grave half filled with water due to recent rains and high groundwater. The vet eyed the watery grave dubiously, then began his job. Inside Andy, a universe of life unfolded, stunning me with its unforgettable landscape: The bold crimson liver; the delicate, winding intestines; the sea anemone bladder. A bright green river of liquified stomach contents spilled across the plywood and into the grass, unable to resist the strong pull back to earth.

Dr. Miller removed the bladder, inverted it, and held it on the tip of his finger, pronouncing it "very healthy. No stones or sediment!" I felt a surge of pride. I'd always been careful not to feed Andy anything that could lead to bladder stones --- a common cause of problems in male goats.

Next came one lung, a healthy and delicate shell pink, surprising us both. I'd expected it to be diseased, or full of lungworm, but it was beautiful. I held it in my hand, surprised by how light it was, like a marshmallow. The vet finished examining it, then tossed it into the grave, where it floated on the murky water.

So far, a healthy goat, save for some impressive stores of fat for which the vet shamelessly chastised me. Though I'd not realized it, Andy was fatter than he should have been. Ruminants also store fat around their organs.

Finally, Dr. Miller arrived at Andy's heart, his tell-tale deep sigh making me instantly privy to the cause of death. "It's huge," he said. "It's what you'd call an enlarged heart." A normal heart should be the size of a softball. Andy's was at least three times its normal size and was the size of his head. It was pitifully abnormal in every way. Even to my layman's eye, the heart looked gray and sick and incompetent. It was surrounded by fluid; the sack that cradled the heart was in turn surrounded by a thick layer of fat. I was astonished that Andy's heart had worked at all.

Andy died of congestive heart failure. Dr. Miller assured me his death had been quick, but it pained me that I had not been there with Andy to comfort him as he exited this life.

My dear goat, once so tiny that he fit into the palm of my hand, had held my heart for eight wonderful years. In the end, I held his heart, so fragile and diseased it literally crumbled into pieces in my hands. I am honored to have known Andy, who joined us suddenly and left us just as suddenly, making me all the more aware of my own mortality and the incredible force of life that lies within us all.

Orphan Andy, 2001 to 2009

The Wonderful Number 6,000

2009-02-12T12:47:00.000-08:00

Last week Argus happily greeted Dr. Miller and stood quietly and politely to have his blood drawn. This in itself was gratifying because getting a needle into Argus' jugular vein has traditionally been an exciting affair. I waited anxiously for the results of the blood panel.

The next day, a jubilant Dr. Miller called with the good news ("What's the best news you can imagine?" was his greeeting): Argus' white blood cell count was down to 6,000 --- well within normal range. Argus has beaten internal pigeon fever, once and for all! He will continue on 2-3 weeks of twice-daily antibiotics just to be sure.

For Argus, life has returned to a comfortable pace. He's still aloof, moving away from my touch at times, yet he eyes me with a kind face and thrills me with an occasional nicker when I prepare his evening bucket. He's forgiven me for torturing him with needles, and he even lets me blanket him now without being haltered (a miracle in itself).

Rain has finally graced the farm, bringing squishy mud and dirty horses. Though it's not enough to quench our drought-thirsty region, it's enough to make for slippery turnout and leg-wrenching footing. I realized the other day, as I watched Argus struggle, to some degree, to dance through the newly-wet pasture, that here was another first: Argus first real muddy winter. I smiled for him, knowing that he was enjoying himself.

This horse, who has been the recipient of love and support from thousands of people on every continent on Earth, has more work to do. So many have fallen on hard times, and people need to hear good stories that fill them determination and hope for a better future. It's a beautiful world out there, with so much to be thankful for. Could it be that a simple white horse is here to teach us that a beautiful life can emerge from the absolute depths of despair?

******************************************************************************

A smiling mother and daughter climbed out of a mini van after a long drive. Fans of Argus from afar, Kim and Ava had decided to make the trek to see him for real. Six-year-old Ava greeted me like an old friend (her mother later explained that she felt like she "knew" us from seeing the blog), thrusting two drawings into my hand. They hang on Argus' stall now, one picture of Argus and me in front of our barn, the other of Shelby (my daughter) and Odie The Mule. Those drawings make me smile every time I walk by them.

We enjoyed a pleasant afternoon of grooming, stall cleaning, and chatting. Argus (and later Ridge) enjoyed a whole hour of grooming (something I never have time for) with Kim while my daughter Shelby kept Ava busy with a ride on Ginger the pony.

Afterward, I coerced Kim into joining me in the arena for a ride. Odie the Mule was her trusty mount:

Dry and Warm

2009-02-04T09:42:00.000-08:00

Our dry, warm California weather continues, a blessing for sick horses but a curse for thirsty reservoirs and crops. January was the fourth driest on record. I stand in the normally muddy winter pasture and feel a sense of dread as I gaze out over bone-dry, fluffy soil. The sky above is blue and clear, and I say a silent prayer for rain. Everyone is gearing up for 50% water rationing. We're blessed with a robust water table here, but still worry about our well. A day in the 70s is not unusual. The horses are quickly shedding their long winter coats, leaving patches of hair where they had a brisk roll.

This is what our pasture normally looks like in winter:

This is what the same spot looks like today. I'm busy building cross country jumps and spreading wood chips with the tractor --- in February!

Argus continues to do well and gain strength. He is cantering in the pasture now, and goes out with the whole gang: Caleb, Half Pint, and Odie (Ridge, who has a fractured pelvis, will be on strict barn rest for a number of months). Yesterday, I opened up the summer pasture, and watched the four horses circle happily around the big field. Odie did his "crazy mule run," where he runs fast with his head sticking up in the air, while Half Pint lumbered along behind. Argus broke a sweat, making wide circles around the pasture. He is such an elegant mover. As I watched him canter a big, balanced circle around me, I imagined him all tacked up with a rider on his back, confidently tackling a cross country course.

This week, Argus will have more blood drawn. Among other things, the vet will be looking to see if his white blood cell count has dropped to within a normal range. If that is the case, we will continue with the antibiotics for another 2-4 weeks. If his white blood cell count has increased, it may indicate the bacteria's growing resistance to the medications, and Argus will have to go back on more injections of Naxcel. Let's hope for a good test!

Argus now eats his medication twice daily in a bucket of alfalfa meal with molasses. He knows this routine, and comes into his stall each morning with an expectant look on his face. He is shy about eating in front of me, so I feed him and then leave the barn for a while. When I come back, his bucket is empty, and he's waiting at his paddock gate, ready to go out for the day. He always looks pleased when I reach for the gate latch to let him out. I think he finally realizes that he will never be locked in again.

I am working on an update on all the horses who were pulled from Argus' old home. All but one have found wonderful permanent homes. I am collecting photos and will share these warm stories with you shortly.

With The Help of Friends and Some Benadryl, Life Goes On

2009-01-26T10:26:00.000-08:00

When I left you last week, I shared story of The Big Meltdown between Argus and me. Since then, we've sailed along nicely using the blindfold method. All week, Argus has stood for the black sweatshirt, and I very carefully administered the medication.

I say "carefully," because most of my attempts were made with the homemade equivalent of a HazMat suit. Gloves. Goggles. Face-covering ski mask.

Saving Argus is not always fun.

Last Monday's antics were not without consequence. During my struggle with Argus, that lovely sulfa/rifampin mixture was splashed in my mouth and face. Despite a desperate rinse in the water bucket, those mucous membranes sure do work fast to absorb drugs! Yes, they do.

And so, on Thursday, itchy beyond belief and covered in welts, I found myself making another embarassing call to the advice nurse:

NURSE: "You called before about this same type of problem," came the voice of the perturbed advice nurse at the other end of the line.

ME: "Yeah, well, it's just that I have this horse who is really, really sick. Have you ever heard of pigeon fever? No? Well, he's got it and I've got to get these drugs into him orally for TWO MONTHS, and it's just...well...challenging at times. I protect myself as much as I can."

Secretly, I feel like such a fool.

NURSE: "Well, you know that each time you have a reaction, you are increasing your risk. The next reaction could be very serious."

ME: (Embarassed) "I know. I know. It won't happen again."

My husband Ken, who has suffered long, and patiently, in his life with his crazy horse-loving wife, recounted all the little injuries I've suffered over the years because of my involvement with horses. "This," he pronounced, inspecting my impressive welts with admiration, "beats everything."

So Thursday, Friday and Saturday had me popping Benadryl, with my trunk, armpits, breasts, and scalp covered in a flat red rash that seemed to change and move by the hour. Dazed by the benadryl, I felt like I had cotton stuffed in my head all weekend. Not even coffee made a difference. By Sunday evening, a few lonely patches of red were all that remained.

And, out of necessity, I had perfected "The New And Improved Method For Medicating Argus."

Since Argus is feeling better, he is eating better. I dissolved the TMS tablets in hot water, added lots of strawberry jello, mixed the rifampin in, and sprinkled this mixture into Argus' all-in-one. He ate it! A miracle! We are syringe free since Saturday night, and the risk to me of further reactions is greatly diminished.

That, and Argus stopped believing in "the powers of the great black blindfold" right around the same time. He is one smart horse.

*****************************************************************************
This is my father. He pets Argus' nostrils very softly. Argus likes this very much.

And this is Argus and his good friend, Odie the Mule, out in pasture yesterday. Argus stays in the stall/paddock at night and goes out during the day now. He is happy to go out again, but equally happy to come back in at night. In fact, he stands in front of his paddock gates and weaves at dinnertime. That's new!

Argus is starting to feel so much better. Over the weekend, he cantered in the pasture. He tires easily, but he has a lot more energy than even a week ago.

It's only January, but already the yellow mustard is starting to bloom in the vineyards. February is a wonderful time in Sonoma County, as so many vineyards are full of mustard.

Here's rescue horse Caleb during a schooling ride last week. He's moving along well in his training, and he is looking for an adoptive home! Caleb is starting to do some really nice lateral work: shoulder in, haunches in, leg yields. He loves to learn and is fun to train. Caleb is located at my farm in Santa Rosa, CA.

"You $#%&*#@# Horse!"

2009-01-21T20:47:00.000-08:00

ANGRY, covered in pink goo, and spitting nails, I hurled a few well-timed expletives at Argus on Monday, our first real falling out ever. This was in response to his sudden refusal to let me syringe Monday morning's medication down his throat. He threw his head back violently, reared and struck out at my chest, shooting backward across the paddock. I was astonished. This performance was repeated for the next 20 minutes (minus the chest striking part), Argus splattered, Jackson Pollack-style, with pink paste, me eventually covered with paste (and not caring one bit if it killed me), my gloves torn, and both of us totally hysterical. What I'd taken for granted, Argus' seemingly miraculous willingness to take oral medication, was suddenly gone. Poof.

I walked away.

Not caring if my face turned orange, not caring if Argus imploded into a giant mass of pigeon fever pus and goo and died right on the spot, I marched into the house, where I bent over the kitchen sink and had a good long cry as I washed my face and tried to make sense of it all. How would I be able to do this for weeks longer? How would I pull this off? How could Argus go from totally cooperative to totally uncooperative?

I called Dr. Miller, at home on his day off. Whining into the phone, I heard myself saying "I don't know if I can keep doing this," to which he listened quietly and replied simply: "You have no choice. You MUST keep medicating him."

I thought about all my other horses, who would greedily eat powdered medication in grain. Argus will not. He's picky about feed the way a child raised on McDonald's food and soda pop looks sideways at broccoli. He's just not that normal when it comes to feed. He loves hay. He could take grain or leave it. And often does. So no matter how much I dress up that pile of yummy grain, Argus KNOWS there is an evil medication lurking inside, and won't eat it.

Which brings us back to syringing paste into him twice a day.

Dr. Miller, who seemed to sense my growing desperation, got in his truck and came to see me, hoping he could help me figure out how to get Argus to willingly accept his medication once more.

In the end, I figured it out myself, Dr. Miller standing peacefully at the paddock fence in his day-off clothes.

I blindfolded Argus.

A child's black sweatshirt makes the perfect horse blindfold, and Argus, who could not manage to LOOK at that syringe coming toward his mouth, calmly and trustingly allowed me to cover his eyes, tie the sweatshirt around his head, and deftly slip the syringe in the corner of his mouth. No drama. No cuss words. In in an instant.

So that's how we do it now. I mix up the meds, Argus gives me a long glance, and I blindfold him. I honestly can't believe he's so accepting of it.

Otherwise, Argus is gaining strength (enough to rear, anyway!) every day. The high-energy feeds I gave him during the bleak days of his illness have caught up with him and made him hyper, so I'm cutting back high energy feeds. Past the danger of having an internal abscess rupture, he's been cleared for turnout into the small pasture, where he's gone out the last few days with Odie the Mule and Half Pint the draft horse, both of whom too lazy to run much. They keep Argus grounded. He's thrilled to be able to go out and roll in the soft dirt and nibble blades of grass with his friends. Freedom and companionship are like medicine to him.

I'm truly believing that Argus is going to make it. I've allowed myself to have that hope. He's stronger now, and every day more and more of the sparkle returns to his eyes. The other day, I caught him playing over the fence with Ridge, something I haven't seen him do for about two months. Today, he and Odie lay down side by side for a nap under gathering storm clouds. This evening, after I congratulated him after he "blindly" took his medication, he stood in the stall and looked quizzically at me, as if to say "Well, I was good for that part, so where's my dinner?"

I have missed the real Argus. It's good to have him back again.

No News....Is Good News

2009-01-16T08:40:00.000-08:00

This is a quick update that will be modified later. Argus is doing well! He's feeling good enough to give me a hard time when I syringe 60 cc's of sweet pink goo (the red Rifampin mixed with white SMZs mixed with strawberry jello powder) down his throat twice a day. I never thought I'd be so happy to have a horse toss his head and sashay backward across the paddock. Argus' smiling brown eyes betray him: He secretly likes the sweet stuff!

On Wednesday, Argus' friend Dr. Miller came to visit and draw blood. I'm eagerly awaiting the results of this blood panel, as it will confirm that we are on the right track. Argus' white blood cell count was 25,000 at the height of his illness. A reduction in white blood cells indicates a reduction in the infection.

I should hear from Dr. Miller any time now.

Dr. Miller thought things were looking good with Argus. He thinks the unseasonably warm weather (it was 83 degrees here on Monday; it's been in the 70s all week) is making things easier on Argus. He could not find any odd swellings, and Argus has gone nearly 7 days now without a fever. I got the OK for limited light turnout into a small paddock. We are not out of the woods, but we're approaching the edge! Argus will be on antibiotics for the next 10 weeks as we continue to beat back this awful bacteria. The good news is that if he survives this, he will have such a strong immunity that he will likely never have pigeon fever again. We are making progress. Your prayers are working! He's surviving! More later.

UPDATE: 5PM CALIFORNIA TIME: Dr. Miller called. The results of the bloodwork are not back yet. Argus had a quiet afternoon in his small turnout and nibbled some grass. He was happy to go out, but he looks longingly at Half Pint, Odie and Caleb in the pasture. They stood near the fence and kept him company. They all seem to know he is fragile right now.

UPDATE: 7PM....Dr. Miller called! Argus' white blood cell count is 11,592 down from 25,000 two weeks ago. This is GREAT news. All aspects of the bloodwork are pointing in a positive direction!!

This from Dr. Miller: "He is not out of the woods yet, but he is going to live."

The Weather Gods Are Kind To Argus

2009-01-12T07:44:00.000-08:00

"It's creepy warm" I thought as I stepped outside early this morning. Our drought-dry winter continues, with temperatures expected to top 72 degrees today. The pastures are dry and beautiful. Rain seems nowhere in sight.

Secretly, I am relieved. This warm weather feels like a blessing from Heaven because it makes life Argus easier and more pleasant. He basks under the sun all day with a (finally) relieved look on his face.

Today, Argus continues his fight, and he continues to make small strides every day. I had to discontinue the injectable antibiotic, Naxcel, over the weekend because Argus was having more and more local reactions to it. When I walked out to the barn early Sunday morning and saw large swollen patches all over his neck and shoulders, I knew it was time to stop. So he's on Rifampin and TMS (a sulfa drug) now, which was the plan all along. Horses can only tolerate Naxcel for a certain period of time; Argus got 11 days of it. Success!

Argus is perkier and eats more. He's spooky when I walk him, and alert. The other day, I saw him playing with Half Pint over the fence. These are all very good signs. Still, I must be vigilant, because all the on-again, off-again swelling is a possible sign, according to the vet, that an internal abscess may be somehow inpinging on the lymph system. Dr. Miller suspects Argus' internal abscess is inside his chest. The potential abscesses on Argus' chest faded away into nothing --- phantom abscesses that got our hopes up. Now, one on the side of his neck taunts me...

On Wednesday, Dr. Miller will come to draw blood. This blood panel will tell us how well his body is fighting the internal pigeon fever. For those Dr. Miller fans out there, I will try to take lots of pictures of this fascinating procedure.... ;)

My Bid For The Darwin Award

2009-01-08T11:44:00.000-08:00

Life with pigeon fever is never dull, especially for a careless caretaker. During my first few misguided attempts to dose Argus orally with the "horrible red stuff," the antibiotic Rifampin, I was christened with a face-ful of red goo, some of which ran into my eyes and mouth. I wore gloves, but ignored the red that escaped past my hands and ran down the sleeves of my jacket.

Knowing that I am especially sensitive to antibiotics, I always administer them carefully when I have to handle them with my horses. This time, I was not careful enough. Still, it was a surprise to me when I woke up Sunday morning with swollen eyes and a puffy face. By Sunday evening, my face, neck and scalp were itchy. By Monday, I had aged a few years, the swelling around my eyes creating strange wrinkles that were giving me a preview of myself at 50.

On Tuesday morning, I peered into the mirror. Either I'd gotten a really great tan over the weekend, or I was turning into an Ooompa Loompa! My face was a strange shade of orange, and my skin felt like fine sandpaper. Finally, I sought medical advice, and learned that one of the most common side-effects in the human use of this drug is --- you guessed it --- orange-tinted skin. I felt like a fool as I looked back on all of my accidental exposure.

Needles, syringes, more needles, mixing up paste to give orally. It's a dance of attaching needles to syringes, filling them, and holding needle covers in your mouth while you carefully push the needle into the horse, trying all the while to keep these powerful drugs away from your body. I have a new appreciation for veterinarians and the care in which they must handle these substances in their jobs, every day.

We've gotten the routine down pat now, me in gloves, long sleeves held tightly closed, and protective goggles, taking care to keep my mouth closed while I shoot red stuff down Argus' throat. I look like some sort of mad scientist. Argus is an angel about it, at times even seems to enjoy the sweet liquid, and he stands quietly while I gently slip the syringe into the left side of mouth, rub his forehead, then tilt his head back, and plunge it down his throat. I hold his nose up high so that he is forced to swallow it instead of spitting it out all over me. Afterward, he gratefully accepts a cookie or an apple slice. My attempt to make it all up to him.

This morning, when I handwalked Argus, my normally lethargic friend surprised me by spooking at a worker in the nearby vineyard. I felt joyous as I held on tight to the leadrope. Having enough energy and awareness to be scared of things is good!

Argus continues to have swelling at the injections sites on his neck, and the subcutaneous (under the skin) injection sites along his shoulder. We are going to try to get through a few more days of the injectable Naxcel ("liquid gold" as one reader put it), and then reconsider if he can continue to tolerate this drug. He has loud rumbling sounds coming from his colon, and he grunts painfully when he poops, all signs of GI disturbance (I'm giving lots of probiotics, which helps). Dr. Miller, bless his heart, calls me daily to discuss Argus and counsel me on what to do next.

Yesterday, Argus had a new and very promising swelling on the left side of his chest. It looked like an external abscess trying to form. This morning, it was still there; by the lunchtime feeding, it was half gone. I felt let down.

Overall, I think we're making slow progress. Argus is still alive, after all, which is success itself. We have a long, long road ahead, but I am hopeful.

Here is a slide show that one of Argus' fans and supporters made and sent to me. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. Thank you again for all your support. I tell Argus everyday that the world is pulling for him, and he looks at me with his brown eyes, and I know that he understands. Odie, Half Pint, and Caleb stand patiently in the pasture next to Argus' paddock, helping Argus while away the time with playful nips and tales of wild gelding parties under the full moon. They make me smile, and I know they make Argus smile, too. The love of the herd for their ailing mate is a healing thing, too.

LIGHT A CANDLE FOR ARGUS

Comforted By Friends

2009-01-06T16:56:00.000-08:00

Interesting things are happening with Argus; I'm constantly on the edge of my seat. Yesterday, the right side of his chest swelled up, looking much like a pigeon fever abscess. At noon, his pectoral muscle was swollen; by 5pm, it was bigger. This morning, edema had settled below it, and the swelling was more firm. By 4pm today, the swelling was nearly gone. When I groomed him today, I noticed that the left side of his neck is now swollen. Keep in mind that an area behind his left scapula swelled, shrank, and swelled again 10 days ago. This bacteria seems to surf its way through the body with a vengeance.

Argus was lethargic today and not that excited about eating. He ate methodically. He enjoyed a small bucket of alfalfa meal laced with herbs. I reported our progress to the vet, who was hopeful that perhaps Argus' body is attempting to push the bacteria to the outside, where an abscess can rupture safely. These outward signs could be related to abscesses inside the body, too. No one really understands this "mutated" form of Pigeon Fever. I remain hopeful, but fearful, too.

For now, Argus is on stall/paddock rest. He is not allowed turnout of any kind because an internal abscess could rupture, which would be fatal. I'm handwalking Argus several times each day. He wishes he could go out, and stands forlornly at his closed gate at times. I tell him this will not be for long. He seems to understand.

Here are some photos taken today:

Wishing he could go out...

Odie The Mule paws the gate in frustration. He'd like to let Argus out so that he can go in and finish all of Argus' various yummy foods.

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The swollen left side of Argus' neck:

Argus and Ridge, my two "horsepital" patients, are very happy to be side-by-side. Ridge thinks it's very convenient that he can reach over the fence and eat out of Argus' feeder. Argus is eating from a raised feeder because it's painful for him to stretch down to the ground.

**Please light a candle for Argus**

The Ripple Effect

2009-01-04T15:22:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie:

I was a pediatric oncologist for almost 20 years and have seen too many things and people who beat "the odds." For Argus - they are 100% or none....

...When I took care of the children, I used to think about things and the effect of their lives as the unknown ripple where a certain life can touch and sometimes completely change others – and it is often unknown. Some of the children I cared for went into “caring professions” and that was the obvious effect - but I also know many in medicine (and horse rescue of late) who went into what they did because of one individual. My guess is you will never know all those whom Argus has affected – and the horses who will have good lives because reading about Argus inspired some humans to do what they wanted to but had not had a palpable reason to commit.

There is the science of medicine – but too many times I saw caring make the difference in how things turn out. So the medicine and Dr. Miller will do what medicine can – but only you and Ridge and Odie can give the medicine of the soul and heart. Argus knows.

A reader

Overhead in the smoky gray dawn, a noisy flock of Canada geese drift through the airspace over the farm, circling for a moment before crashing comically to the ground in the front pasture. They "honk honk" impatiently, as if dismayed to find the whole farm still asleep. I stir in my bed, trapped between a gray tabby cat and a heavy brown dog, trying to decide between settling back down to sleep and greeting the day early. I opt to rise, tempted by the thought of hot coffee, and, wearing my new black Christmas slippers, quietly shuffle my way down the hall of the old farmhouse.

I'm careful to move quietly, not wanting to wake either sleeping children or alert Odie the Mule, who studies the kitchen window with his large, sad brown eyes for signs of life at the break of day. Once Odie realizes we're up, he alerts the other horses, and soon, from the barn, a chorous of impatient bangs and throaty whickers cuts short my warm, slow start. For now, I crouch down whenever I cross the kitchen window, feeling smug in my deception of the early-rising Odie. His breakfast can wait for now.

The laptop groans to life, flashing blue light at me as I blink away my sleepiness and cradle my mug. I click here, click there, and soon am faced with an unusually high volume of emails. About Argus. Warm wishes, hope, message board vigils. I sit, blinking through tears as I click on the PayPal link. Sleepy still, I enter numbers, letters, passwords. I'm still new to this online stuff.

What I see makes me lose balance, to almost fall off my chair in total surprise. People have sent money for Argus! I can hardly believe what I see: a balance of $1,057.23. I am grateful that it is dawn, that the house is asleep, that my privacy is ensured. I lay my head on my own lap and weep, big tears running down my face, into my hands, across the flannel of my red plaid pajamas.

(Note from Katie: This money will go directly toward the purchase of Argus' medications. I feel embarrassed accepting anything more. I ask that you do not send anything more except your continued prayers, support and good wishes. I don't want to divert important help from other animals in greater need than Argus. This has taken the pressure off us to the point where I can handle the remaining medical expenses as they come up, over time. It lifts a tremendous burden. Thank you!)

As if sensing my emotion, the geese start up again. "Honk! Honk! Honk!" I peer outside to see a small flock of about 12 geese nibbling the tender green blades of grass in my closed-off pasture. I go back to reading e-mails, dabbing at my eyes with a now-soggy section of toilet paper. Each message is like a jewel that I look at and admire before hesitantly closing it. Each message contains warmth, and wisdom, and hope.

The geese alight suddenly, frightened off by the lumbering Half Pint, who's broken into the off-limits summer pasture and is now eating the forbidden grass with greed. He pauses for a moment as he looks toward the house, spotting me through the living room window. We make eye contact for a moment, and then both look away.

My cover blown, I dab my eyes again and prepare to head outside and start the feeding process. Six horses, one pony, and one goat wait for me to appear, half-dressed in pajamas, tall mud boots, and the old orange down jacket. A chorus of whinnies greets my appearance on the back porch. It's the best feeling. Even Argus manages to lift his head and look my way.

Out in the barn, I am delighted to see that Argus has finished his grain from the night before; the first time in two weeks. It's chock-full of herbs, probiotics, and other things that will help support his immune system through all of this. His eyes sparkle for a moment before he settles back down into the dullness of illness. I wrap my arms around his neck, talking softly to him, telling him about all the wonderful people out in the world who wish most desperately for his recovery.

I go through my checklist, preparing a armload of things to put into Argus: A rectal thermometer; 20ccs of Naxcel to inject into his measly muscles (it's painful for him at times); a 60cc syringe full of liquidy "red stuff" (also known as Rifampin) mixed with a half gram of bute. Argus stands patiently while I gently peel back the left corner of his lip and shoot this syringe-full of red liquid down his throat. He begins to shake as I remove the cover of the needle, readying his "shot." I scrub down the injection site, this time his chest, and the shaking increases. I feel like a terrible mother. Still, he stands still, his mouth pressed tightly closed, his eyes elsewhere. A couple of quick smacks with my fist on his pectoral muscle, and the third time I plunge the needle in. Argus stands still. The Naxcel goes in. Liquid gold.

A week ago, Dr. Miller and I wondered if I could pull any of this off, and for how long. Getting a needle and oral medications into Argus was a rodeo event. Now, it's like he's been doing it all of his life.

I think about the pediatric oncologist's letter as I stand with Argus. How the threads of life take us here and there; how a seemingly random, and meaningless act might leave a legacy of benevolence that lasts for years, although we may never know it. How we go through life, never fully knowing the reaches of our actions and words. How a white horse, forgotten in a lonely paddock for most of his life, has the ability to touch hearts all over the world.

Love is medicine, too. It goes both ways, sent to Argus to encourage and heal, and sent back out into the world with the hope of peace for all creatures.

Light a "candle" for Argus --- this is fun!...

Bittersweet New Year

2009-01-01T18:46:00.000-08:00

"Prepare yourself," came the apologetic voice of Dr. Miller at the other end of the phone line, "Argus has Internal Pigeon Fever."

Suddenly numb, I sat down at the kitchen table, the vet's words tumbling through my brain, half comprehended, like a rude splash of ice water. Around me, the cheerful trappings of a happy Christmas on the farm seemed to float through the air. I hunkered down quietly in a chair, listening. This phone call, this news, was the culmination of an unsettling few weeks with Argus in which he never seemed to fully recover from a brutal autumn of illness. I'd watched him trot listlessly around the pasture and was troubled. A vet appointment was scheduled. Something was not right.

But then, on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, a series of frantic phone calls to summon Dr. Miller. Argus was no longer able to lower his head to the ground. He was running a fever. He had a strange swelling behind his scapula. He was very sick. Dr. Miller looked sympathetic as he collected some blood, gently airing his suspicion of every California horse owner's nightmare: a rogue form of Pigeon Fever that sets up inside the body, lurking dangerously alongside internal organs. Internal Pigeon Fever.

Here in California, Pigeon Fever, or "Dryland Distemper," is a common occurrence in summer and fall; this year, it's everywhere. Horse owners share sympathetic moans of complaint as they swap their Pigeon Fever stories, subtly one-upping each other. Vets scratch their heads, proclaiming it "the worst year I've seen in 30 years of practice." A bacteria that's a kissing cousin to that which causes Tuberculosis invades the body, traveling along the lymph system and setting up shop in muscles, the result being fist-sized abscesses surrounded by a thick fortress of fat, the body's way of walling off and expelling the unwelcome visitor. What follows is days or weeks of fever, swelling, a really sick horse, and a giant abscess that breaks open into a spectacular eruption of pus and blood. But it's not generally considered life threatening.

Less than 10% of horses go on to develop the internal form of Pigeon Fever, and of those, I'm told only about half will survive. Those with a compromised immune system receive a guarded prognosis. Argus is a horse with a compromised immune system. Heck, just about everything with Argus is compromised.

And so, Argus is in the fight of his life. He is very sick, and only time and love and months of an arsenal of powerful (and ghastly expensive) antibiotics might save him.

I took this picture today, an effort to be humorous. Argus is enduring injections of Naxcel twice daily. He's also receiving a drug called Rifampin, which is famous among Those Who've Treated Internal Pigeon Fever. The veterans, and the vet, describe Rifampin as "that horrible red stuff that gets on everything and stains your clothes." I was baptized last night, just shy of the stroke of midnight. And again today (see my face). A mouth syringe, a polite-yet-struggling white horse, red goo in my face, eyes, and mouth.

It's easy to be sad about it all; the odds are not that great. It pains me to think that I might lose him. But I'm choosing to be as positive. I'm choosing to believe that Argus will make it. This horse is a survivor, and if anyone can beat Internal Pigeon Fever, it's Argus.

In this, the first day of the new year, I am choosing to believe in hope, and miracles, and rainbows that appear on the darkest of days. God willing, Argus will see every sunset of 2009. I will do just about anything to give him that chance.

Please keep Argus in your thoughts and prayers. He needs all the good wishes he can get.

Added January 2, 2009:

A few have asked me about helping with the cost of Argus' medication. Normally, I would not accept such help, but in the face of costs of $3,000 for antibiotics alone over the next 2-3 months, any assistance would be humbly accepted.

Paypal: watermarkfarm1@yahoo.com

Directly to vet:

Katie Moore's account for "Argus"
Sonoma-Marin Veterinary Service
1120 Industrial Avenue, Suites 13-14
Petaluma, CA 94952
707-763-1222

Added January 4, 2009:

Thank you to everyone who donated to help offset the cost of Argus' medication. In just 48 hours $1050 was raised, and it will go a long way toward purchasing medication. At this time, I ask that you do not donate further. Thank you so much for relieving a tremendous financial burden on my family.

Katie Moore

'Twas The Night Before Christmas

2008-12-24T09:18:00.001-08:00

'TWAS the night before Christmas
And all through the barn
Not a creature was stirring
Anywhere on the farm

The stockings were hung
On the stall doors with care
In hopes that Saint Nicholas
Soon would be there

The horses were all snuggled
Into straw-banked beds
While visions of sweet feed
Danced in their heads

And Argus was in his blanket
Chubby Half Pint going bare
Both hoping and wishing
Santa soon would be there

When out in the arena
There arose such a clatter!
They leapt into their paddocks
To see what was the matter!

The moon on the puddles
In the wet winter pasture
Made the night light so blinding
They breathed faster and faster!

When what to their
Brown horsey eyes should appear
But a jolly red sleigh
And eight hungry reindeer

In the driver's seat sat Santa
All dressed up in red
And he winked at the horses
As they spied from their beds

Then something odd happened
The horses grew brave
And Santa addressed them
Which made them quite grave:

"Now Argus! Now Half Pint!
Now Odie and Angel!
Now Ginger and Caleb!
And Ridge in the stable!"

"To your herd mates be kind
And don't waste your hay!
Take care of your riders
And love each new day!"

As dry shavings that before
The wild hurricane fly
When they meet with the winds
Mount to the sky

And suddenly the horses
Who before felt quite shy
Felt themselves flying around
With Santa in the sky!

So around the farm
The horses they flew
They looked down on the home
They loved and they knew

And then, on the house top
They thumped on the roof
And the family inside
Heard the pounding of hooves

"What's that?" they shouted
As they woke from their beds
"We thought we heard horses
Loose overhead!"

So out to the stables
The family they ran
Where they found it quite empty
Save for the horse goat, An'

They peered at the sky
For a sign of the equines
And for a moment, saw Santa
Riding Argus just fine

Then suddenly, and quietly
The horses were there
Munching hay and looking sleepy
As if they had no cares

So the lights were extinguished
The excitement went "poof"
And the family missed Santa
Spying down from the roof

To each horse, he gave a gift
And when he got to the last
It was Argus, the white one
He'd seen on many a Christmas past

"You're a good horse, dear Argus"
Santa said with a tear,
You have suffered so long
So many a year"

"I promise you will always
Have a loving, peaceful life
With pastures and buddies
An end of all strife"

Argus thought quietly
About all the nights
And the bleak Christmases of waiting
For the arrival of light

This, his second Christmas
Of freedom and cheer
He'd been a real horse, a free horse
For more than a year

Santa sprang to his sleigh
To his team gave a whistle
And winking once more at Argus
He flew away like a missile

The horses heard him exclaim
As he drove out of sight
"Merry Christmas, dear Argus!
And to all --- a good night!"

Five Starfish

2008-12-19T07:47:00.000-08:00

Just when I'm starting to feel discouraged, I remember the starfish story.

A man was walking along the beach. Ahead of him, he saw a woman dancing in the waves. As he got closer, he saw that she was throwing starfish, who had been stranded by the low tide, back into the ocean. "What are you doing?" he said to the woman. "I'm saving these starfish," she replied. The man laughed. "There are thousands of starfish along this beach who will die today. You cannot throw them all back in. You cannot possibly make a difference." The woman threw another starfish back in, and laughed. "It made a difference to that one."

Well, five starfish are sitting at the Petaluma, CA auction yard. They are five skinny senior horses who will go to auction on Monday, and they need our help. They are just five of the many hundreds of horses around the country this week who face an uncertain fate, but we have the power to help them. They have been brought there by various people who no longer want to care for them. This auction is frequented by several local slaughter dealers. If purchased by the slaughter buyers, these horses will be destined for a Mexican or Canadian slaughterhouse next week.

A tiny, grassroots local organization, Sonoma Action For Equine Rescue (SAFER), is trying to help these horses. They wish to raise the funds to bid against kill buyers on Monday and either find homes for the animals, or at the very least put them to sleep humanely, saving them the horror of a long, cold ride to slaughter.

Please contact SAFER president Kate Sullivan at katesgate@comcast.net or 707-824-9543 if you can help in any way. Can you offer a home, a foster home, or some funds to help Kate help these horses? I have promised Kate $50 toward this mission. Just $5 makes a huge difference. Even if just one starfish was thrown back to sea, it would be worth it.

This was posted by Kate Sullivan of SAFER in the comments section. I copied it here for easy access:

Hi - This is Kate of SAFER. My friend Katie has surprised me by posting on her blog - and I am very grateful! We don't have Paypal yet but if checks are promised I know how much I can put on a credit card on Monday at the auction. I am meeting the fellow in charge of the horses Sunday at 2pm to see what's what and get pictures.
News will be posted on my email list and on the website www.saferhorse.com
We are calling this save "The Christmas Horses: Room at the Inn"
Hozzat for marketing ;-)
Thanks for caring and thank you to Katie for being a great Mom, a great friend and an Angel to horses.
Kate

"Dear Santa: Please bring me my very own person for Christmas!"

2008-12-18T08:57:00.000-08:00

Caleb, the 19-year-old Thoroughbred gelding, is still in search of a forever home. Caleb was sold at auction to a slaughter dealer in June 2008. A former stakes-winning racehorse (registered as "Mac Attack"), Caleb loves to learn and has a strong work ethic. He is a sound, athletic gentleman who loves trail riding. Caleb is learning elementary dressage and is a beautiful, uphill mover. He has schooled over low fences. He's an absolute gentleman on the ground, very easy to lead and handle. Caleb trailers well and is fairly calm in new places. He has had chiropractic and bodywork done. Best suited for an intermediate rider. He's located in Santa Rosa, California. For information on Caleb, contact Katie at watermarkfarm@yahoo.com

MythBusters Update --- OR --- Odie's 15 Minutes of Fame That Will Never Be...

2008-12-08T16:38:00.000-08:00

So many people have asked that I thought it was fair to post it front and center: We received the sad news from the MythBusters producer that the ENTIRE horse myths episode was cut by the production department in Sydney, Australia.

Sadly, Odie will not be appearing on MythBusters! (Shhh....don't tell him!)

Happy Anniversary Argus: One Whole Year Of Heaven!

2008-12-08T11:03:00.000-08:00

Today is December 8th, 2008. That means it's been a whole year since the shivering, filthy white horse came into my life. What an amazing year it has been. I thought about how far we've come the other night, when I stood in the barn aisleway, tending to Argus pigeon fever-ravaged chest. A thermometer stuck in one end, and a giant syringe stuck in the other, Argus stood, TIED, dozing while I plunged syringe after syringe into his chest, cleaning the big abscess with dilute betadine. Most horses won't stand for this, but Argus simply fell asleep, happy for the attention.

A year ago, Argus was wild, and terrified, and barely halter broke. He could not trot four steps without falling down. He shook violently, breaking out into a chilling sweat, whenever I walked him outside his paddock. His muscles were like soft bread dough. His knees shook all the time. He could not straighten his right leg. He was such a terrible mess.

One year ago, Argus stands in the corner of his paddock, a mere 24 hours after being removed from Hell. The woman in red is an animal communicator. "He misses his old home and his person," the communicator said ruefully, "and he's terrified of your neighbor's flag." Argus reported his mane to be intolerably itchy. We carefully cut it off minutes after this photo was taken. Despite is fear of us, he stood quietly while we hacked it off with scissors and brushed it out.

Today, Argus is a happy, well adjusted horse who enjoys time out in pasture, a bucket of grain in his stall, and can be led all over our property. He's a saint on the ground, safe and kind. We are lucky to share our farm and lives with this wonderful friend:

To celebrate the anniversary of Argus' liberation, I bring you wonderful news! The three remaining horses from Argus' former "home," Starmaker (age 22), Destiny (age 18) and Samanatha (age 12), were finally seized by Animal Control two weeks ago and are now safe and happy in CHANGE foster homes. This seizure is the culmination of months and months of work by Animal Control, the Sonoma County District Attorney's office, Dr. Miller and the Sonoma CHANGE Program volunteers and board members. It was truly a group effort, and it was not without its share of nail-biting drama!

After Argus' former owner, Patricia Tremaine, was convicted of two counts of felony animal cruelty in September, she was ordered to give up her remaining horses. Instead, she suddenly moved them off her property, telling Animal Control she had given them away. Those of us involved in this case were devastated. How could this happen??? Several CHANGE board members did some digging and discovered that Ms. Tremaine had attempted to fool the courts and Animal Control, saying she'd given the horses away when in fact she'd kept them and had them hidden at a nearby ranch. Kudos to the amazing CHANGE folks for sticking to their guns and making sure justice was served for the three horses!

Destiny and Samantha are looking for adoptive homes, and they are amazing horses! Destiny is a petite (15.1 hand) grey Trakehner-TB cross (a Tempelritter daughter for those Trakehner folks) who has been used as a lesson horse. She is broke, sweet, gentle and safe and should be sound once her hoof rehab is done.

Samantha is a GORGEOUS 17 hand bay Anglo-Arab mare. She is sound and an incredible mover. She has very little training and is not broke to ride. She has not even had her feet handled much, but she is coming around. Samantha is a project horse.

Stay tuned for Starmaker's rags-to-riches story. It's about as heartwarming as adoption stories come. He went to his new home on Saturday and is settling in nicely in his beautiful new barn. Starmaker's new family will do nothing but dote on him and make the remainder of his life wonderful. Sadly, Starmaker has cancer.

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Although the skies were, for the most part, sunny and mild, strange clouds seemed to loom silently over Watermark Farm throughout much of November. The sudden and shocking loss of our old horse friend Deema dealt a flattening blow to my normally happy family of horses and humans. It served to remind all of us, yet again, to savor all the precious moments of life, big or small, grand or meaningless.

I could not convey this to Ginger, Deema's grieving Shetland wife, who stumbled around in a daze for two solid weeks. To Ginger, my meaning-of-life observations meant nothing. To her, all had been lost on that awful Sunday evening that Deema died. Feed, comfort and companionship were meaningless. She was incredibly despondent. An animal communicator informed me that that Ginger was shocked and grieving terribly. I held the tiny Shetland pony often, weeping quietly with her as we comforted each other in the stall. Ginger, a tiny angel who has patiently carried many a young rider, looked so sad.

Also grieving was the third horse who roamed the yard with Ginger and Deema, a crippled old mare named Angel. Angel was rescued from a feedlot with her foal, both of them starving and filled with parasites. She has lived a happy existence since here at our farm.

Two weeks after Deema's death, the two old mares seem to have made sense of their sadness. They have become friends and are now grazing (and napping) together. Both are still subdued, but I hope that with time, they will find more meaning in the company of one another. Here, on a cold morning, Ginger and Angel nap together:

The cloud of November seemed to settle on Argus. Sick with pigeon fever, Argus moped around, fighting fevers that occasionally zoomed to 105 degrees. I hovered around him, wishing desperately to give him relief. Finally, the abscess ready to lance, Dr. Miller came for a visit. After having his huge chest lanced, Argus felt some relief! I am pleased to say that he is now well on the road to recovery.

Finally, so as not to leave you on a depressing note, here are some photos from a Pony Club trail ride. Shelby rode Odie the mule. It was a beautiful fall day here in the wine country of Northern California. Enjoy!

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Farewell To A Friend

2008-11-25T09:25:00.000-08:00

Nadeemaah
"Deema"
February 5, 1979 - November 15, 2008

Our three greys: Deema greets Argus and Ridge on one of Argus' maiden group turnouts. Everyone loved the gentle Deema.

Our beautiful Deema, known to all as the gentle old Arabian who wandered our yard greeting visitors, crossed the rainbow bridge on Sunday, November 15 at 5pm. He lived with his usual gusto right until he became suddenly violently ill around 2pm with what looked like colic, but was later thought to have been some sort of catastrophic cardiovascular event. The vet arrived quickly and helped Deema out of his pain.

Nadeemaah was born February 5, 1979 in Texas. He was a show horse for many years before becoming a lesson horse in a a program for troubled teens. Deema joined our family six years ago. He left us just a few months shy of his 30th birthday.

We were blessed to have this beautiful creature cross our path and will miss his sweet personality and gentle whinny. He was a dear horse who could be trusted with the smallest child. Many children took their first ride on Deema, who always walked so carefully.

Deema's "wife" Ginger, our Shetland pony, has been grieving deeply. Please keep her in your thoughts as she struggles to adjust to life without her constant companion. All of the horses at Watermark Farm had a special affection for Deema, who always offered to groom them over the fence. He was the kind old grandfather horse who made everyone happy.

Deema counsels Argus about life, friends, pasture and holding still for the farrier. A little white teddy bear in winter, Deema invited hugs and affection from humans and horses alike.

Mourning, too, is our daughter, 10-year-old Shelby. Deema was her first horse and first love. She groomed him daily and always made sure his every need was met. She sat with his body for two long hours after he died, crying softly into his mane. Later, she told me she'd seen a shooting star in the northern sky. "That's a message from Deema," I said, telling her that when my first horse died I, too, saw a shooting star. "It means he's okay."

When Shelby's first pony died on a cold January evening seven years ago, I gazed at the flat winter sky, trying to understand such an unfair loss. A beautiful shooting star streaked across the heavens.

I thought about this as I stood with Deema's body late on the night of his death. I thanked this gentle soul for all he'd given my family. A tear rolled down my cheek as I said a silent prayer. Then I had the strongest urge to look up.

Across the inky dark sky, a brilliant white shooting star flew on by.

Just one day out of prison, Argus takes his shaky first walk outside the barn. Deema followed along quietly, and seemed to tell him "It's OK! It's OK!"

The Dreaded Pigeon Fever

2008-11-13T12:25:00.000-08:00

After a peaceful summer in which Argus led the charmed life of a newly-freed prisoner, fall has presented Argus with challenges. I dearly wish I could somehow protect him from worry and discomfort, but I can't. He's endured enough hard times to fill ten lifetimes.

First, his friend Ridge has lately been confined to what Argus rightfully views as JAIL --- a paddock. Ridge's hind end lameness has progressed to the point where it's become a four-alarm event . We're getting close to figuring out what ails Ridge, but meantime, he's been sentenced to paddock jail with twice daily handwalks.

Argus, meantime, swaps Pigeon Fever stories with Half Pint and Caleb, as all three geldings have contracted this infection so common in California.

It's been weeks now that I've been hot packing and cleaning and draining and cleaning and draining and hot packing chest and belly abscesses. Half Pint was the first to get it. His case has been the most spectacular. Argus followed quietly with a simpler belly abscess requiring minimal intervention. That was so like Argus, to get sick and nearly get better without even letting me know.

Still, he hasn't felt like his usual, sparkly self for a few weeks, and the on again, off again fever that gives Pigeon Fever its name has taken its toll (the pigeon part comes from the characteristic swollen chest, making the horse look like rather pigeon-like). Argus has lost quite a bit of weight and now, as a second large abscess is developing in his chest, is sore, too.

His arthritic knee is due for another joint injection as well. His eyes are just a bit less merry than normal as he stalks Half Pint through the pasture. I feel sorry for him, yet, I know he's experiencing life, and all it has to offer. Good and bad.

Still, Argus makes the most of things. He enjoyed our recent first real rain of the season, rolling in the new mud until we joked that he was dressed up like a bay horse for Halloween. I realized later that this was yet another first for Argus as he closes in on a full year of freedom --- the singular pleasure of rolling in mud that hours before had been dry, powdery dirt.

"It's all normal stuff, buddy," I counsel Argus as he lets me tend to his swollen chest. I wish I could lift his spirits with a deep discussion of the duality of life, and how pleasure and pain, joy and sorrow, and health and disease exist side by side. Instead, I do the next best thing and offer him a horse cookie. He accepts it gratefully, chewing it slowly and licking his lips as he half dozes in the warm fall sun.

Last, but not least, Caleb is still looking for his forever home. He's schooling elementary dressage and recently attended a Pony Club lesson. He is a 19-year-old Thoroughbred gelding, a former stakes winner who won eight major races, most won wire-to-wire. His drive to win is evident in his serious work ethic. Caleb loves to learn and takes our schooling sessions seriously. He is a beautiful mover and is sound, and has a level head on the trail. Caleb is looking for an intermediate adult rider to help write the rest of his rescue story. Please contact Katie at watermarkfarm1@yahoo.com for information on Caleb.

Guilty!!! Justice for Katie, Jack and Yiyo

2008-11-03T15:25:00.000-08:00

In memory of the horse Yiyo. We wish we could have spared you such suffering. You live in our hearts, and you will never be forgotten...

On the heels of such sad news with Athena, I'm pleased to announce a GUILTY verdict in the criminal animal cruelty trial, People v. Barrera, Valencia!!! The people who neglected Sonoma CHANGE Program horses Katie and her horse companions Jack and YiYo will now face the consequences of their actions.

I was one of dozens of people who attended the trial. We were told that not even murder trials had such a large audience. This, in turn, generated tremendous media attention.

Following Mr. Barrera's guilty verdict, a stunned audience watched as he was handcuffed in the courtroom and taken to the county jail, where he will stay WITHOUT BAIL until sentencing on November 26. For those close to this case, November 26, 2007 is the day that Mr. Barrera's horse YiYo died an excruciating death, alone in a stall without medical attention, of a intestinal twist.

So here is the press coverage. Please join me in celebrating this victory. Here in Sonoma County, animal cruelty cases have rarely seen the inside of a courtroom. The Sonoma CHANGE Program, The Sonoma County District Attorney's Office, and Sonoma County Animal Care & Control are now working together to set a precedent of aggressive prosecution of crimes against animals. We hope these efforts will inspire other counties around the nation.

Bloomfield couple on trial for abuse in horse's death

Woman in horse-abuse case says boyfriend was in charge

Horse cruelty trial nears conclusion

Defendant guilty in death of horse

Plea bargain in horse cruelty case

Woman accepts deal to avoid retrial in horse abuse

Katie during rehabilitation at a CHANGE Program foster farm:

Katie rides Katie in a training session last August at Watermark Farm:

Katie's daughter, Rich Debut (chestnut on right), actively raced on the West Coast in 2008. Please keep your eye out for her as she, like many racing TBs, may eventually need a new home. Katie also has a 2-year-old son living on a Thoroughbred breeding farm in Vacaville, CA. The farm owner would like to place him. Please contact me if you are interested in Katie's son, and I will connect you with the farm owner. These two horses are Katie's only living offspring.

The Last Horse Out of Hell

2008-11-02T08:47:00.000-08:00

It is with great sadness that I announce that Athena was humanely euthanized today. She was not doing well in her foster home, and was slamming into her stall walls , creating a serious hazard for her caretakers (one of whom was injured by Athena). The Sonoma CHANGE Program provided Athena with separate evaluations from two veterinary opthalmologists as well as Dr. Miller. Athena had no vision in one eye, and a painfully detached retina in the other. She was in constant pain from her eyes and her badly foundered feet. Athena has crossed the rainbow bridge and is now in a better place. You are free now, Athena.

Athena was the last horse to leave Argus' hell. Last Monday, she waited quietly in the littered pasture for her long-awaited rescue, alone in so many ways.

Athena, we discovered sadly, had become profoundly blind. An opthalmologist confirmed the next morning that uveitis, untreated, had robbed Athena of her sight. Her retina is painfully detached. The prognosis is not good.

She stretched toward our voices, her beautiful face bright and eager. She could see our general movement, light and shadows, but that was all. Still, she trusted three Sonoma CHANGE Program volunteers to halter her, even though touch was so unfamiliar, and scary, and allowed me to lead her through the junkyard that has been her home since birth.

This is Hell: This is the home where Argus and his horse family spent their lives. You can see the infamous mare motel in the photos. This is where Argus was locked up for 15 years:

I could sympathize with Athena's blindness, with the challenge of walking through narrow pathways between piles of junk. The saying "seeing red" came to mind, for I had come face to face not only with the blind Athena, but with Pat, the woman who had cruelly imprisoned and mistreated Argus.

Pat The Hoarder followed behind me, shouting: Get your hands off her face!! I want some pictures of her. I need to get her set up for pictures! I rode this mare's father, and mother, and grandfather! She's a champion! I had her whole family! Now get off her face, god dammit!! Get away from her!

It took me everything I had to maintain control. "You've had your chance to take pictures," I growled, shaking, with shallow breath. My field of vision became narrow, spotted, red. Blinded by rage, and dragging a strangely trusting blinded mare behind me, I fled down the driveway, to the country road below.

"Just walk with me, sweetie, I won't hurt you," I whispered urgently to Athena, as we stumbled down Goodwyn Avenue. "We are here to take you to a safe place. You must leave this place now. Please walk with me, trust me."

And she did.

This place. This hell. This raging madwoman trailing behind me, screaming about photos and "setting her up." I had, at long last, come face to face with Argus' jailor. I was filled with a sort of blinding rage that I've almost never experienced.

Here is Argus' prison. This is the mare motel where he spent his whole life. This is the tiny 12 by 16 paddock that was home. This is the still filthy water tub that he drank out of for years.

This was Argus' view from prison:

Two doors down, the TV show "Extreme Home Makeover" had once descended upon the neighborhood to tear down an aging farmhouse and rebuild it into a country estate. I remember visiting the site and watching them gut the house. I did not know that, just a few hundred feet away, Argus eagerly took in the activity:

At the trailer, Athena sniffed hopefully. To our knowledge, she'd never set foot in a horse trailer. The former owner stood behind us, barking orders that made no sense, rambling on and on about horses, and Athena, and how finely bred she was. I stood inside the trailer, speaking softly to Athena, urging her to step inside:

Horses seem to know when you are trying to help them. Strange things happen in the urgent atmosphere of a rescue situation. Horses who have never been handled allow themselves to be haltered. Blind mares who have never been transported climb willingly into a horse trailer. And that is what happened with Athena. After 15 minutes of inching into the open trailer, bumping her sightless head into the sides and trusting the voice of a stranger, Athena climbed in.

Her jailor stood behind her, watching with palpable rage before silently disappearing into the house. The last horse to go.

A prison decommissioned.

Katie Gets Her Day In Court

2008-10-17T16:16:00.000-07:00

Do you live in Sonoma County? Do you have time to attend part of a trial next week? The trial "People v. Barrera & Valencia" is scheduled to start Monday, October 20. Salvador Barrera and Laura Leticia Valencia have been charged with felony animal cruelty. They are accused of starving three horses, one of whom died.

Katie, who has been profiled in earlier blog entries, was one of their horses. She survived by eating tree bark and her own feces.

Please visit the Sonoma CHANGE Program legal message board for trial schedule and details. If you live in the area and can attend, they'd love to have you. Filling up the courtroom sends the message to everyone that animal abuse will not be tolerated, and it will not be kept secret.

Thank you!

The Fourth Season

2008-10-10T08:08:00.000-07:00

FALL IS HERE, ushered in by crisp nights and warm days and the first Canada geese to arrive, jet lagged and relieved, for their winter lodging. The stately old flowering pear tree's green crown is polka-dotted with gold and crimson leaves. Soon, it will be a fiery mass of red standing alone near the farm's entrance, ushering in another season with a joyful shout.

As summer slides into a casual California autumn, the horses wind down. Once sleek, they take on a fuzzy quality, silhouettes soft against the kind of fantastic jack-o-lantern sunsets that only October can bring. Sensing the change, the pasture residents wander in earlier in the afternoon, nosing about their feed boxes for scraps of hay and looking wistfully toward the warm box stalls in the barn. Andy the goat assists them, opening paddock gate latches with his prehensile lips, putting himself away with his best friend, Half Pint.

Argus is entering his fourth season of freedom, bringing full-circle the happiest year of his life. It's his first fall out in the world, and he's having so much fun. His life in prison came with a good view of a quaint rural valley dotted with cottages and trees, and Argus became an observer. His name, after all, means "watchful." Now Argus is a participant; he rarely raises his head to look for things in the distance now. He's a real horse, head down low to the earth, sharing grazing rights to the last of the summer grass with migrating birds, his three equine siblings, and a goat that thinks he's a horse. Last week, our first rain awakened sleepy seeds, and now fragile emerald green baby blades of grass peek out from the earth and reach for the sky. The horses are delighted with this sweet and unexpected treat.

Argus has been free for 10 months, and it shows. Even in bright sunlight, I cannot always tell Ridge and Argus apart, the words "which one are you?" constantly on my lips. Argus really looks like a Thoroughbred now, his body no longer kinked and atrophied. It makes me wonder how he'll be with another year of pasture life under his belt. I look at their tails, once the best indicator: Argus' tail was short from where it had been hacked off just below the tail bone. A year later, it's below his hocks, and soon to catch up with Ridge's. Argus proudly uses his tail to protect Ridge's face from flies.

These two are almost never apart, and move in unison in a way that I have not seen before in pasture mates, like an unmounted, unbridled pas de deux. They are so beautiful together. Ridge, whose hocks are fusing, and who is sore while we wait for this process to finish, prefers to move at the walk as much as possible. While the rest of the herd pounds in at a gallop, Argus jogs patiently alongside his friend. You can see it on his face, the restraint it requires to, for a few moments, gear down from his spectacular, ground-eating medium trot. He tempers his love for floating about the pasture with his admiration for his best friend, who cannot fly with him just yet.

All these things I observe closely, as I learn much from Argus: How to be a friend. How to appreciate quiet moments, like a tart fall apple, or a smile from a stranger in the grocery store. How a gentle hand and some patient words might alter the course of a life, although we may never know it. How to slow down and look around, breathing in the season at hand, sitting expectantly underneath an autumn sky. How to appreciate anger and sorrow as catalysts for change. How moments and days and weeks and years are woven into an intricate web that is a life.

We, the weavers, choose the colors of the threads, and the beauty of the pattern. It's behind us, within us, and ahead of us, a vision always in the making, never finished, continually changing. Our animals, our children, our friends and lovers, all part of this intricate pattern. Argus runs through my tapestry, a slightly tattered white thread that wraps itself around a myriad of events from my 40th year, sent here by forces unknown to remind me and the world that life, with all its pleasures and heartaches, is a beautiful creation well worth clinging to.

Handsome Caleb, Beautiful Katie, and Famous Argus

2008-10-01T12:40:00.000-07:00

Last July, a 19-year-old Thoroughbred gelding named Caleb (formerly called Cayenne) joined the adoption program here at Watermark Farm. Caleb was rescued from a feedlot -- and slaughter -- by my friend Nanci.

Here is Caleb when he first arrived at the farm. He was standoffish and unfriendly and just so sad. You can see the many bite and kick marks on his body, probably a result of putting him into a feedlot full of strange, and equally stressed, horses. Auctions and feedlots are very stressful places.

Here is Caleb last weekend, with Nanci on board. He's now a happy fellow with merry eyes. He's come a long way, and is now officially available for adoption. Could you be Caleb's forever partner?

Caleb is fun to ride (has a western background), likes to work and learn new things, and bathes, ties, trailers and travels well. He is a good trail horse. Caleb is learning elementary level dressage and enjoys basic fencework. He is quite sound, and a lovely mover.

Caleb has had dental care, chiropractic care, is fully vaccinated and wears front shoes. He has nice feet, and would be a good barefoot candidate.

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KATIE is happy in her new home in Colorado. Her new mom, Robyn, is riding her and getting help bringing Katie along in her training. Here is an excerpt of her latest update:

Katie has really settled in. She seems very happy to be back working. She was ridden 4 times last week and 4 times this week. As she's been able to handle it we've made each ride more interesting/ more work.....
....Katie knows I'm not the food lady. But I am the lady with the yummy stuff. I bring her a little bit of senior mixed with the probiotics and electrolytes. So I get nickers for that. Yesterday we had a good rain storm. The barn roof is metal so it can be loud during a down pour. Katie didn't care. She likes to stand with her head sticking out into her run (not when its raining) and watch what is going on in either of the outdoor arenas. And she does like her neighbor Blue the 27 year old - old guy. She nickers if he is out and comes back in. ....
I've made sure someone is babysitting me when I ride Katie. But I feel really comfortable with her. I think riding her is definitely within my abilities, but I like my back up team to help make sure we keep her relaxed and that I am fair about what/how I ask. I've got such a nice, soft, sweet mare I don't want to mess with that!!!

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ARGUS, well, he's just Argus. He continues to build muscle and look more like a horse. His routine is the same every day. He's turned out 24/7 with Ridge. In the morning, Half Pint and Odie the mule are turned out with Ridge and Argus, and the four friends have breakfast together. After a long drink, they make their way out to the far reaches of the pasture to graze. Back and forth, back and forth, all day they come in for water and go back out for the brown, dry grass. It's a small turnout, only 6 acres, but to Argus it's an entire universe.

Every evening, Odie and Half Pint are brought back in, and Ridge and Argus, our two resident "skinny" Thoroughbreds, are presented with piles of hay and their buckets of feed and supplements. The only time I see Argus weaving, these days, is when he's patiently waiting for his evening feed.

If I ride Ridge, Argus watches calmly from his pasture. He's not herd-bound, and happily accepts the company of whatever equine is with him. Sometimes, I bring Argus into a paddock while I ride. Because he becomes a bit anxious at times when he's locked into a paddock, I keep these sessions short, and full of fun and feed. It's important that Argus retain the ability to be confined, but I cannot blame him for feeling anxious. I would, too!

The other night, I gave the horses a midnight snack, and spent a few minutes standing at the gate, talking to Argus. "Do you have any idea how FAMOUS you are, Argus?" I asked him. "Did you know that people from all over the world love you?" I gave him a hug as sidled up to the gate, telling him how much I loved him and how happy I was that he would stay with me forever. We ended the night with a smile and a hug. I really do think Argus understands.

GUILTY!!!!!!!!!!!

2008-09-18T16:43:00.001-07:00

"GUILTY -- a delicious word, so much more satisfying than french fries!"
- Anonymous reader comment

TEN POUNDS OVERWEIGHT, I sat yesterday in my Suburban in the parking lot of Burger King, trying to overcome a rare urge to eat french fries. I'd been stacking 110 pound hay bales all day, and was exhausted. I estimated I'd moved nearly 5,000 pounds of hay, all by myself. Surely I'd burned enough calories to cheat, just this once?

I was seriously contemplating fried food when the cell phone rang. It was Dr. Miller. I had been waiting anxiously to hear about the outcome of the hearing of Argus' former owner.

"Guilty!!!" Dr. Miller announced proudly, "She's guilty of two counts of felony animal cruelty."

Argus' former owner (let's call her the FO) had waived her right to a trial in favor of an open hearing where a judge would decide her fate. Last Friday, September 12, justice was at last served. The FO will not serve jail time. She will, however, serve three years of probation and she may not own animals during this period.

And what about Sammy, Destiny, Athena and Starmaker -- the four remaining horses? The FO has 30 days to sell them or give them away. But don't panic!! Any new home must be approved by the director of Animal Services, AND they must go back to court to seek court approval for a specific new owner. Basically, they've made it extremely difficult for the FO to dispose of the horses improperly. She may NOT sell them for slaughter, and she may not euthanize them. The local auction yard, rendering pickup man, and slaughter buyers have all been informed that these four horses are protected under court order.

Everyone is hoping and praying that the 30 days will pass quickly, because at the end of that period (October 13), the FO must surrender the horses to Animal Services, who will in turn surrender them to the Sonoma CHANGE Program.

Arrangements are being made for temporary foster care, but these horses need loving, permanent adoptors waiting in the wings. Are you in a position to give one of these horses a forever home??? All four horses are tame, friendly, and were once ridden and shown. They are heavier type Arabians, or Trakehner/Arabian crosses. All are in their teens or early 20s. Please contact me at watermarkfarm1@yahoo.com if you would like information about adopting one of these sweet horses.

So many people have worked so hard on this case. Many thanks go to Dr. Grant Miller, the Sonoma CHANGE Program, Sonoma County Animal Care & Control, the district attorney who worked so hard on this case (she's a blog reader now, too), and the commissioner who decided it was time for justice. Thanks, too, go to all the neighbors and concerned citizens who kept up the heat.

Today, I drove by the FO's filthy property. I could see all four horses from the street. Two are out in pasture, and two are locked in the mare motel. They are beautiful horses, three dark and one gray. A friendly bay gelding with a wide blaze and a swollen sheath limped along toward me, nickering softly. His dull eyes were puffy from flies. We were less than ten feet apart. "Just three more weeks," I whispered as he looked at me, "we will get you out of here buddy, I promise."

Most of the horses look heavy, with fat, cresty necks and lumpy bodies. They have probably foundered in the past. Since all four have been owned by the FO for many years, they have likely never received regular deworming or hoof care. We do not kow how sound they will be. They certainly have not been fed properly! In the mare motel, I saw rotting produce and a dirty plastic bag in one horse's feeder.

It was hard to drive away. As I did, I looked in my rear view mirror. The bay with the blaze watched me solemnly as I disappeared from sight.

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For those who keep asking about Odie and MythBusters, we still do not have an air date! I have been asked to check back in early October. The show will not air before November. I will post a date as soon as I know!

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Thank you for all your beautiful words and warm wishes on our adoption of Argus. We are lucky people to have such an amazing creature like Argus in our lives. We are also lucky people to have such tender-hearted people, all over this beautiful planet, who share Argus with us. Thank you!

Some have asked what they can do to help with the ongoing cost of keeping Argus. Please consider making a charitable donation to the Sonoma CHANGE Program or another animal welfare organization. The CHANGE Program subsists solely on donations, which stretch far since Dr. Miller donates so much of his time to the program. If Argus' sister and her brothers are brought into the program, as we hope they will, CHANGE will need some assistance with the cost of their care until they are adopted.

Helping animals in need does not have to involve donations, either. PLEASE, if you see an animal in need, pick up the phone and call your local Animal Control department, and report it! Follow up on your call, and don't give up!

Happy Ending. Happy Beginning.

2008-09-10T11:48:00.000-07:00

"...and so I have nothing to fear; and here my story ends.
My troubles are all over, and I am at home."

--Anna Sewell, Black Beauty

TWICE IN MY LIFE, I found myself pondering the upcoming placement of a foster horse with a feeling of weight and dread, a sort of uncomfortable lump in my throat that would not go away. It's always bittersweet, releasing the amazing souls who have crossed paths with me into the hands of someone kind and deserving. I know I will miss them terribly, yet I know their path is meant to curve gently away from mine. I watch them from afar, like a mother bird whose fledglings one day fly purposefully away from the nest.

Twice, and only twice, I've not been able to bring myself to be that brave mama bird, feeling, instead, that I was the one meant for this horse. The first time, with my gray gelding Ridge, I felt ill each time I made an adoption flyer, or placed an ad, or talked to potential adoptors. It was a strange feeling of unrequieted love, as if we were star-crossed friends destined to part. I took Ridge to dressage shows, on trail rides, and spent sweet moments having quiet chats with him in the stall. He felt like my horse. I wanted so badly to keep him.

But it's not always that simple, especially when you already own several horses and, at times, struggle to pay for it all. My husband (bless his heart), who grimaced silently when I finally confessed my pain over Ridge, simply said: "Happy Mother's Day --- Forever!" And with that, Ridge was mine, and the unbearable weight of not knowing was lifted.

With Argus, it has been different. For months, I have trudged along with the honest intent of placing him. Placed ads. Made flyers. Wrote about him in a blog that I sincerely hoped would produce a few good home leads. The amazing thing is that with thousands of people reading Saving Argus, in all these months, not one person has wanted to adopt Argus. Not one single inquiry. Not one.

It's hard not to love Argus. Despite years of abuse, he is an innocent, a sweet, gentle, wise old soul who's quite unlike any horse I've ever met. I watched a horse who was once miserable and confused transform into a happy little being who sort of skipped through every moment of his day. Eating, sleeping, drinking and companionship were a joyous new dance for Argus. It reminded me that my seemingly mundane life, and the sometimes daunting responsibilities that come with it, was more a little slice of paradise than a burden. Gaining this sort of perspective was a blessing. Getting it from a horse was nothing short of amazing.

Every day, I watched Argus amble happily through the pasture, Ridge faithfully at his side, the two of them moving in such unison that they looked like mirror images. Every day, I saw Argus blink sleepily at Half Pint's half-hearted instruction, or nuzzle Odie's flank under the shade of the redwood tree. They looked like a little horse family, the four of them together, and I was struck by the feeling that Argus was just so damn happy. How could I take that away? How could I uproot him from this happy life? How could I take him away from his family?

And so, after great consideration (and the promise of ongoing help from a few friends), it's been decided that Argus shall stay at Watermark Farm. Forever. He's been adopted by us.

I hope you will stick around and keep reading about the continued adventures of Argus and his twin brother and soul mate, Ridge, as well as all the other denizens of Watermark Farm. For now, it's an ending to one story...and the beginning of another that I hope will continue for years to come. I sure would like it that way.

Courtroom Antics

2008-09-05T21:52:00.000-07:00

I jokingly call Dr. Miller "the Jack Bauer of the courtroom" because he's one tough cookie who won't back down. It's because of the hard work and tenacity of Dr. Miller, the Sonoma CHANGE Program, Sonoma County Animal Care & Control and the Sonoma County District Attorney's office that we even have an Argus to blog about. Without their efforts, Argus would still be a nameless soul stuck in hell on a dirty 3-acre farmette. Without their efforts, Argus' former owner would not be facing two felony counts of animal cruelty. It's taken more than 15 years to bring this woman to justice. Here's where things stand:

The defendant smartly gave up an August trial in favor of a plea bargain, which means she agreed to plead guilty to the charges in exchange for a lesser penalty. It's done all the time. Pushing a case to trial is time consuming and opens one up to the whims of a jury, and many juries just don't take kindly to horse abusers. Today, a plea bargain hearing took place. The outcome made those of us working to save the last four horses pleased. The judge offered the defendant a good deal which involves giving up her animals and serving probation. The defendant did not like the offer, and asked to go to trial anyway. The judge gave her 7 days to decide whether to accept the plea bargain. If she opts to go to trial, we will be in for many more months of the legal process in action. A trial could be very bad for her.

So we'll know more next Friday, when the next hearing takes place, and we find out whether the defendant will accept the deal on the table or continue professing her innocence and push for a trial. It sucks, but that's how the system works. This convoluted and incredibly fair (most of the time) judicial process is part of what makes our country a good place to live. We have the right to a trial.

The defendant would be wise to accept the judge's offer. But she might not, because she's a hoarder, and hoarders don't think like normal people. They hold onto their animals until the bitter end and would prefer to take their animals down with them.

For now, the four horses remain in the defendant's possession. They are not safe.

I drive by the four horses every two weeks. They are not suffering. They are neglected but are living out in pasture. They have not been locked up like Argus. Their feet are long, but I've seen worse. They have foundered in the past, so that's the biggest worry about them. Their manes are knotted and dreadlocked just like Argus' mane was. Their tails are matted and awful. But they are not suffering terribly at this point. They are all Trakehner/Arabian crosses, very pretty horses, mostly in their late teens. One is gray. Their names are Sammy, Athena, Starmaker and something else I can't remember.

All we can do is say some prayers this week. We will know next Friday, September 12, what will happen next. I will post a case update as soon as I know something.

In the meantime, please say a little prayer that the defendant will return to court next Friday and accept the plea bargain.

See next post

2008-09-02T17:00:00.000-07:00

See next post for court case update.

"You Complete Me!" Katie Finds Her Forever Family

2008-08-27T12:39:00.000-07:00

ONCE UPON A TIME there was a horse named Katie. She was born in 1999 in the state of Washington and became a Thoroughbred racehorse named "Di's Debutante." Katie was exquisitely beautiful, but her beauty did not win races. She ran too slow, and was retired to a breeding farm, where she had three beautiful foals. Katie was friendly, and liked being a mother.

Katie's happy times ended one day, when the breeding farm sold her. She eventually wound up living in someone's back yard. They did not understand horses, and often forgot to put out hay. There was junk everywhere. Katie and her two horse companions grew thinner and thinner. Eventually, the people stopped feeding them at all.

Time went on, and Katie grew desperate. There was no feed. She ate tree bark and her own manure. She was no longer the beautiful debutante of her racing days. Katie grew depressed. Eventually, one of her companions died. The people did not care.

One bleak winter day, when she had nearly lost hope, Katie had a dream. In her dream, white trucks pulled up, and people got out. She heard voices speaking urgently. A gentle hand slipped a halter on her; a quiet voice told her she was safe now. Katie did not want to wake up from this dream.

Suddenly, Katie did wake up. She was being led toward a trailer, where she and her companion, Jack, were loaded up. Katie felt hope for the first time in a long time. She was taken to a beautiful farm. A tall young man with a kind face looked her over and gave instructions for her care.

For the next four months, Katie slowly became a princess again. The young man (a horse doctor, she surmised) visited her often. She and Jack gained weight and wore warm blankets. They roamed a large pasture with friends, eating grass and their fill of hay.

Katie felt happy again, yet something was missing.

One day, her foster mother came to her and said: "You are healed now, Katie. Soon you will go to a farm where they will find out about your training."

Katie soon found herself in a trailer again, heading north toward a small, quiet farm. She liked it there and settled in well. She liked the food lady, who always seemed surrounded by dogs and children. The food lady let Katie show her all the things she knew --- how to take a bath, how to be fly sprayed, how to go into a trailer, and how to be ridden. The food lady got on Katie's back and together, they learned more about riding. Katie liked this.

Time went by, and Katie was happy. She loved people, and dogs, and other horses. She loved going places in the trailer. She loved the food lady, who made sure she always had food. She loved the children, and even the chickens.

Katie was happy, but something was still missing.

One day, the food lady came to Katie and said: "Katie, it's time for us to look for your very own home now. You will go to a home where you will always be cherished and protected, where you will never be sold, and you will never feel hungry or desperate again." Katie thought this sounded like a good idea. She had heard about horses having their own person. She thought this sounded very nice.

Not long after, a lady from Colorado saw Katie's photo on the internet, while she was reading about another horse the food lady was helping: Argus. The nice Colorado lady emailed the food lady, and they began to talk. They talked and talked. They talked to the horse doctor, too. And then the food lady talked to the Colorado lady's vet, and riding coach, and horse friends. And then they talked some more. After that, it was decided that the Colorado lady would come to California to meet Katie.

The Colorado lady and her adventurous husband drove and drove, all the way from Colorado to California. She was so excited! She had known the first time she saw Katie's picture, that something was special about Katie. When she met Katie she knew: this was her horse. She spent five days playing with Katie and riding her in California.

Katie soon discovered that she had figured out what had been missing: her very own person. She snuggled into the Colorado lady's arms and listened to stories of all the good times that lay ahead. "My very own person," Katie thought happily to herself. Katie, at long last, was now complete.

Katie with her new parents, Robyn and Mike of Colorado. Katie will join the family's horse Dalton and her canine sister, Taya (who also traveled from Colorado to meet Katie). Besides being wonderful people with a tremendous sense of compassion and responsibility, Robyn and Mike are long-time horse owners who view Katie as a member of their family. Look for Robyn and Katie in a hunter/jumper show in 2009!!

Many thanks go to the hardworking Dr. Grant Miller and the many volunteers of the Sonoma CHANGE Program for making Katie's happy ending possible.

"Oh Argus, Get Over It!!"

2008-08-21T10:44:00.000-07:00

You could almost hear him shouting: "My bum is clean! My bum is clean!" as he scrambled in a circle around me, wild with a kind of half-frightened, half-satisfied excitement. It was Argus having a bath, but this time "going all the way." For 15 years, water and baths were not part of Argus' life experience, so the going has been slow. Months of hosing only the front legs, then the chest. He learned to like that. We moved on to the back legs and the belly. Then the neck and shoulder. And finally, yesterday, my patience wearing thin, I went for it, told Argus to "get over it!" and hosed him down completely. He stood quietly for most of it, but circled wildly around me once we got to the forbidden zone: his rump.

So yesterday, Argus stood before me, shaking and quaking but not terribly afraid. We both got a bath, my bum being the only dry part of me simply because it was located on the opposite side as my soaked front. Argus stood, dripping. I patted him and cooed at him: "Oh, Argies! You are SUCH a good boy! You are SO smart! You are the BEST and SMARTEST horse ever!"

Argus looked pleased. Argus looks pleased a lot these days.

I released him back into the pasture, where his twin and constant companion, Ridge, stood waiting. They commiserated for a moment, breathing secrets into each other's nose. Maybe Ridge was telling Argus bath stories from the race track, but whatever, they both stomped off in mock disgust at my insistence that Argus have a wet butt.

And they both rolled right in front of me, one wet, one dry, as a show of solidarity.

This full-monty bath came on as a result of the fact that Argus was actually really sweaty. For although Argus leads a life of movement and leisure in a 6-acre pasture, and he trots and canters neat little circles on a regular basis, he doesn't exactly break a sweat. Let's just say that he need "more cardio."

Behind our property is a hay field that's farmed by a grumpy hay rancher. Finally, Mr. Grumpy Hay Rancher has picked up the 650 bales that peppered the field. They sit in a neat stack. We ride in this field every year once the hay is picked up, so yesterday Demi and Odie The Mule took their first hayfield ride of 2008. Argus' eyes practically popped out of his head. Back to the old high-headed, distant gazing stance he went, spacing out and trembling at the sight of a speck of white mule cantering 20 acres in the distance. All the other horses looked out at Odie in the hay field with amusement. For Argus, it was A Big Event.

"What a horse he might have been," I thought as I sighed and watched this magnificent animal, with his fabulous, uphill, suspended trot float around the pasture. "He had the talent to be an upper level horse," I observed as Argus' picked up the canter, making a tidy 20 meter circle to the right, then executing a perfect flying change of lead before re-balancing himself and circling left.

If you squint your eyes when Argus moves like this, blurring your vision for a moment and ignoring the disturbing pelvis, the ribs, the sea of awkward, jutting bones, the hooves flared to support years of constant weaving, the freakishly unlevel sacrum, and a front left limb that quivers from knee arthritis and contracted tendons ---- for a moment, you can imagine Argus in braids and a saddle, chugging down the center line in a dressage test.

He'll never carry a rider. For his deformed body, it would be too painful. So Argus executed his own little test out in our pasture as he watched Odie in the distance. When he had completed his workout, his neck and shoulders were glistening with a kind of healthy, clear sweat. Just like a sporthorse in training, Argus ended his session with some words of appreciation, cookies, a bath, and a roll. I like to think the other horses were giving him nods of appreciation, and maybe a "10" for effort. I certainly was.

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Katie is coming along so well! She's learning the fine points of half halt (translation: BRAKES), and yesterday took her first trail ride through the vineyard with me. It's always an adventure to retrain a horse whose earliest rides took place at a gallop in a large, open space (the race track). Katie took one look at the long, manicured rows between the vines and I could feel her heart start to pound, some distant memory awakened. "No Katie," I told her, "no racing today." Riding a somewhat unknown track-broke horse out on the trail for the first time can be an adrenaline-filled experience, even for the most experienced person. Katie was a doll, soft and mostly calm, never spooking even when vineyard irrigation pipes made snake-line noises at her.

On our maiden trail ride, we kept Katie sandwiched between Odie The Mule, who is a trail expert, and Ginger The Shetland Pony, who's older than time. Katie appreciated her company's casual approach to the whole experience and didn't seem to mind that her field no longer consisted of fellow fine Thoroughbreds but a funny old mule and pony. She buried her nose in Odie's rump and used Ginger as a convenient place to scratch her itching head (an activity curtailed when it was learned that Katie had secret plans to kick Ginger!). Katie finished the trail ride at the back of the pack.

Katie is such a wonderful horse; she deserves a lifetime of love ahead. She suffered unspeakably at the hands of someone who felt she didn't deserve to be fed. Her former owners will stand trial on felony counts of animal neglect in early October. I will attend the trial (and as we get closer to it, I will post the trial information so that locals can, too!) in early October and let you know what happens. It was quite an experience to sit in the courtroom recently and watch the defendants enter their "not guilty" pleas. I kept hearing Dr. Miller's voice: "Katie was surviving by eating horse manure." I can still see the image of Katie's dead companion. Are the defendants at all haunted by the misery they created?

Not guilty? We shall see.

Last month, a Colorado reader of this blog emailed me, asking about Katie. Long story short, after weeks of emails and phone calls and reference checks and more reference checks and more phone calls and more emails, this potential adoptor is driving to California from Colorado AT THIS VERY MOMENT to meet Katie!!

Stay tuned for the next chapter of this story! The adoptor and I will spend the next four days together getting to know each other and Katie.

Katie's recent rides:

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Cayenne is now Caleb, after the biblical Caleb who survived hard times to find the promised land. This darling little horse absolutely shines. He loves his new, more fitting name and seemed to know it instantly.

Caleb and I are working on basic dressage in the arena. My sense is that he is a very seasoned trail and ranch horse but hasn't had tons of arena work. Nevertheless, he likes to learn and he's enthusiastically agreed to some dressage lessons. We're working on half-halts and leg yields, and we've hacked around the property. You could almost hear Caleb sigh in relief when I took him on his first hack, as if he was saying: "Finally! She's letting me do something familiar!!"

Caleb is no longer the shell-shocked survivor. He's a confident, playful, friendly boy who has all four feet in the promised land. And he's ready to find a human who will share it with him.

Scenes from this week's rides:

Here, my 13-year-old daughter, Demi, is riding Caleb:

Argus Artwork!!

2008-08-08T09:58:00.000-07:00

This is so exciting! A young artist in Australia has created a beautiful rendition of Argus. Kris has captured Argus perfectly!

You may order this print (minus the 'Argus' text) by visiting the artist's website.

Sweet Cayenne, Sexy Katie, and "The Boys"

2008-08-06T21:28:00.000-07:00

To The Owner Of This Horse
~ author unknown

Alone I stand in this dark stall - staring into space
Wondering how this came to be my final resting place.

I think back on all I did for you and try to understand,
Why you would let me fade away beneath your very hand.

I gave you all I had to give, and still you wanted more,
I pushed myself so you'd receive the very highest score.

I forgave you when you were too quick to punish or to scold,
I just remembered you were young, and wished that you were old.

I always carried you safely through each trial and each course,
And all I wanted in return was for you to love this horse.

Yet here I am - alone and cold - a mere shadow of myself,
With our pictures and Blue Ribbons still displayed upon your shelf.

I do not feel selfish, in this, my final plea,
I just want to understand why you did this to me.

I know that as time passes, people will change their ways,
And children will grow up and forget their younger days.

But how does one forget a friend - someone they once adored,
And start looking at their old champion as nothing but a bore?

Now I know my coat has faded and my eyes, they aren't so bright,
But I assure you that within my heart still burns a quiet light.

Yet, here I stand alone and scared of what may lay ahead,
Will I ever know another kindness or have a warm dry bed?

So people, when you buy a horse, just please remember me,
And what sadness I endured despite the life I tried to lead.

Love your horse with all your heart - give him all you can,
Do not forget to rub him with a calm and soothing hand.

No matter what life brings your way - remember till the end.
When you break your horse's heart, you betray your truest friend.

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Our formerly sad Cayenne has life in his eyes. He's in love with Katie (who's a bit sweet on Argus), and he's found that the "food lady" (that's me) puts grain into his bucket every single night.

Cayenne has discovered that people oooh and aaah when they see him, and want to feed him cookies (which, thanks to our friend Hannah, he has finally learned to eat). He's found out that hands are gentle, and eyes regard him with respect and admiration, and voices are soft, and cooing. Slowly, our sweet little pepper, Cayenne, is coming out of his shell. He greets me heartily each morning, ready for his day of turnout. He greets me like an old friend at day's end, shoving his nose into his halter, ready to retire to his stall for the night. After all, the grain waits there.

Baths are cold, and not that welcome, but feeling clean is good, and Cayenne expresses his gratitude by rolling enthusiastically. Fly spray is scary, something remembered from days long past, a faint memory of better times.

Slowly, slowly, Cayenne is learning to smile again. He stands quietly while I tack him up, relaxed. Being a riding horse is obviously something he enjoys. I ask for a trot, and he gives me a j-o-g, begs me to put my reins in one hand, and worries when I ask him to extend his stride a bit. I sit for a breath of a half-half, and Cayenne slams on the brakes. We stop and laugh, the dressage rider and the obviously former ranch horse, tack all wrong and signals crossed. Somehow, Cayenne and I will learn to dance.

Cayenne at the feedlot in June. His tail was matted from the end of his tail bone to the ground. You can see the remains of his hip number from the Toppenish, WA livestock auction, where the kill buyer purchased him:

Cayenne's first tack-up at Watermark Farm. His lungeing skills were rusty, but there. He was worried at first, but relaxed after a few minutes.

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Everyone loves Katie. It's hard to live in the shadow of such a beautiful woman. Today, a visitor visited, a potential adoptor. I took her to meet Cayenne, who promptly walked away, and Argus, who stood shyly in the pasture for inspection, like the older boy who never seems to leave the orphanage. Katie hung her head over the fence, blinking her long lashes at the woman, smiling with her eyes. Party Girl Katie, beckoning. "That's Katie," I say. "She's so friendly and sweet."

I can hear the woman suck in a little breath, smitten. "She's beautiful!" she gasps, and wanders absentmindedly to the fence to get some Katie love, turning back toward Cayenne for a moment, half-heartedly offering him a cookie. "Everyone loves Katie," I tell her, and laugh, weakly, not wanting her to feel bad for ignoring Cayenne.

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I've been on vacation for the past week, and missed my horses tremendously. Sitting in a cabin at beautiful Pine Mountain Lake, sans the endless barn chores and horse care, I found my thoughts on "my four boys," as I call them. The pasture crew. Half Pint, Odie, Ridge and Argus.

I found myself thinking fondly of the boys and their antics, which I watch with great interest from the house. I missed Ridge's possessive hugs, Half Pint's itchy skin and the great lengths he goes to to scratch it, Odie's sad mule eyes and placid disposition, and Argus' happy face.

That's the thing with Argus --- he's always happy. He'd wear a smile on his face if he could. His funny, flat eyes always content. I am grateful for his presence on our little farm. Argus reminds me to be in the moment, to enjoy what's in front of me, to close my eyes in the sun and simply swat flies.

During our long drive home, I could hardly wait to see my pasture boys. As we hit the long driveway, the long rays of the late afternoon sun streamed across the pasture, where the boys stood, napping. They caught sight of the white Suburban crunching toward them, and four pairs of eyes were upon us. Sleepily, Argus blinked at me as I bellowed "Hello, Boys!" out the car window.

I swear I could hear him muttering "Just another day in paradise," as he closed his eyes, and, casually, went back to sleep.

Do Horses Grieve?

2008-07-26T15:49:00.000-07:00

Pockets nuzzles Sunny's body as he says goodbye to his friend

Last Monday, I bid a teary farewell to our mare Sunny, a horse you have not heard about. Sunny was rescued from a feedlot in 2006 and brought to Watermark Farm to be rehabilitated and adopted. As many who've dabbled in feedlot rescue know, it's a crapshoot and you don't always know what you will get. In Sunny's case, what arrived was a motherly mare who loved children dearly, but who would never be sound.

Sunny, like so many racing Thoroughbreds, had become obsolete. Once raced at the famous Santa Anita track in California, she left behind an insignificant racing career to become a mother of three. During her time as a broodmare, Sunny was kept in a pasture with barbed wire fencing. One day, her foot became caught in the fence, and it "nearly tore it off," according to her breeder (whom I once spoke with). The damage to Sunny's foot was significant.

In 2006, with no baby at her side and a bum foot to boot, her breeder and life-long owner sold her to someone who, in turn, sent her to slaughter.

She was just 11 years old.

Sunny proved to be a wonderful companion horse, but people are afraid to adopt a chronically lame horse. After a year of looking for a home for her, I resigned myself to the fact that I was Sunny's permanent home, and retired her to a nearby farm, where the soft pasture footing would be kinder to her increasingly lame foot (for those horsey folks, her coffin joint was fused, she had massive low ringbone, and her navicular bone was lost in a mass of calcification; her xrays were so severe that even my seasoned vet sucked in a sharp breath when they appeared on his laptop screen).

Over the past 8 weeks, the pain in her foot became significant. The bad days outnumbered the good. More and more days came that Sunny's once happy brown eyes wore a cold, sad haze. She could no longer run with her companion, an elderly Thoroughbred named "Pockets." She spent most of her days curled up in her stall.

With a heavy heart, I made the decision to put Sunny down last Monday.

Sunny and Pockets loved each other. They were never out of each other's sight. The farm owner worried about how Pockets would do without her.

Sunny was sedated and peacefully put down on a cool Monday morning, Pockets standing nearby. He stood quietly, but worried when she went down. Afterward, I brought Pockets out to Sunny's body. He stood nuzzling her mouth, blowing gently into her nostrils. My daughter began to sob.

Pockets stood protectively over Sunny's body for an hour. Demi and I sat with him, brushing his mane and caressing him, watching his sad eyes. I began to worry that Pockets' grief would get the best of him. Just at that point, he turned and marched back toward the barn. I turned him out with another mare.

He bolted out in the pasture, inciting all the horses on the ranch to take one last victory gallop for Sunny.

In memory of Sunny ---- Jockey Club name "Wasp"
March 16, 1995 - July 21, 2008
13 years old

The Busy, Busy Month of July

2008-07-20T12:07:00.000-07:00

The summer is whizzing by at Watermark Farm, and everyone, both two- and four-legged, is having adventures.

Katie, our newest foster horse brought to us by the Sonoma CHANGE Program (www.sonomachangeprogram.com), has had some first rides and a trip to a local show. Katie is the friendliest, most level-headed horse! She looks more like a warmblood than a Thoroughbred. Although Katie is only track-broke, she rides reasonably well and has a soft mouth.

Katie's favorite pastime is to have little girls decorate her:

My first time on Katie's back. She's one mellow girl, so it was quite pleasant:

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Odie The Mule has had the busiest summer of all. Two weeks ago, Demi and I braved a full day of 102 degree heat to take Odie to a ranch where the Discovery Channel show "MythBusters" was filming a segment related to "horse myths." One was "If you lead a horse to water, you cannot make them drink." Watching them film this interesting show was quite humorous. They are earnest in their attempt to be as scientific as possible.

Their second experiment was to take both a horse and a mule and see if either would follow a carrot tied to a stick, the way you see in cartoons. Again, their efforts were both humorous as well as sweet. It was hard to stop laughing at times, which is difficult when the sound lady is giving you her death look.

Here, Odie gets to meet one of the hosts, who is dressed for the occasion. Odie was VERY interested in such a large carrot:

Two of the show hosts, along with the director and cameraman, prepare to film a segment where they ask Odie to follow a carrot on a stick:

Did Odie follow the carrot on the stick? When the show airs in a few months (I will post a date), you will find out.

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Yesterday, Demi and Odie competed at the Sonoma County Fair horse show. They had a great day, placing 1st in Hunter Hack, 2nd in 2'6" Hunters, 2nd in Equitation Over Fences, and 5th in Jumpers, all against large classes of about 15 kids! Demi was elated at the end of the day to find out that she'd won Reserve High Point --- all on a mule!

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Argus is doing so well! He had his second appointment with Dr. Guyton, the chiropractor, who was all smiles when she discovered that he had IMPROVED chiropractically since her last visit, maintaining movement in his pelvis!! Argus cooperated nicely for the work (no small feat considering this horse was fearful of human touch eight months ago), and fell asleep after his adjustment. Later that evening, out in the dark, I heard muffled horsey footsteps. A big flashlight revealed their source: Argus was cantering beautiful, balanced circles out in the pasture, all by himself, like a hunter going through its paces.

Argus is finally gaining weight. I've figured out a routine: Bring everybody in from the pasture at night, put out 8 flakes of good hay, and let Argus eat all night. He's relaxed enough in the pasture to eat, and he free-feeds that way. I think he's gained about 50 pounds.

The feeling never gets old. I look out at Argus and watch him race through the pasture, and I am filled with emotion. I hug him while I give him his evening grain, and the look of gratitude in his eyes makes me cry. I comfort him while he bravely submits to farriers, vets, and chiropractors, despite some fear of it all, and I am overwhelmed by his continuing trust of people. To see and be with Argus is to experience a simple kind of joy that we often overlook in our complex lives.

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Welcome to Cayenne!!

Cayenne is a 19-year-old Thoroughbred gelding who was sold at auction to a slaughter buyer and landed at a feedlot, awaiting his trip to a Canadian slaughterhouse. A friend saved his life and brought him to Watermark Farm last Monday. He's an ex-racehorse, and has the manners of a southern gentleman, but he's a sad soul who's not seen much care in recent years. Cayenne's tail was matted into one huge dreadlock that started at his tail bone and went to the ground. It could not be untangled, so his tail had to be cut off.

At age 19, it's amazing, but, we read his lip tattoo and were able to find out who he is. His Jockey Club name is "Mac Attack," and he is a former stakes racer. Where he has been between age 4 and 19 is anybody's guess. He's sound and rideable. Cayenne will be available for adoption once he's been fully assessed --- probably in about 6 weeks.

Poor Cayenne looks a bit dedraggled. His body has many scratches and scrapes from his precarious existence (auction yard, feedlot) over the last few weeks. His spirit is rather sad, so he is getting lots of love, treats and TLC.

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It's Showtime!!

2008-07-07T08:16:00.000-07:00

Odie the mule has been discovered by the Discovery Channel! Tomorrow we trailer him to Marin County for a taping for the show "Mythbusters." Story and photos to come!

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July and August bring the wheels of justice to Argus and Katie. On August 12th, Argus' former owner will stand trial in Sonoma County on four counts of animal cruelty. If you live in the area and would like to attend the trial, please email me.

In addition, Katie's former owner will have a pre-trial hearing in late July. His case will not likely go to trial. I will be attending both events.

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"Katie" is a super mare! Wow! She is mellow, kind and easy to work with, and she LOVES people. I have lunged her, tied her, and bathed her, and she accepts all with ease. She is a cute mover with metronome cadence and rhythm. She is going to be a fun partner for someone. Katie is incredibly well proportioned, with a huge heart girth and a big, powerful hind end. I could see her as an eventer, lower level dressage horse, hunter, and trail mount. Katie will be attending the Hoofbeats Park schooling show this weekend as an observer.

Once Katie has had some chiropractic work (she is "out" in her atlas and sacrum), I will start hopping on her and see just how green she is...
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Argus had a visit from a friend of mine yesterday, a woman who is internationally known for her work with horses. She looked at Argus, said "He has a headache, and his close-up vision is poor." Very interesting, because Argus DOES have a headache a lot due to issues with his atlas (first certical vertebra) wanting to be out of alignment. It gets fixed periodically with chiropractic adjustment, and Argus feels better --- but he is definitely due for some work. I thought the vision comment was interesting ---- could Argus have overdeveloped his distance vision and lost some of his ability to focus on things up close? Is that a result of chronic spinal issues?

I felt my maternal hackles pop up just a bit, though. At times, I feel very defensive of Argus because people tend to point out all the things that are "wrong" with him --- right in front of him. I find myself wanting to clutch Argus to my chest, like a protective mama bear, all the while growling "Don't you say anything critical about my Argus. He's PERFECT!"

I like to think that Argus understands words, energy and gestures, and needs, like any creature, to feel accepted. So I stand alone out in the pasture and tell him how fine he is. Feeling good about who we are is all any of us want, whether we are close to perfect --- or not.

* ~ * ~ * Happy 4th Of July, Argus!!! * ~ * ~ *

2008-07-05T09:58:00.000-07:00

ARGUS stood in the center of a tight semi-circle of horses, flanked supportively by Ridge, Half Pint, and Odie the Mule. He faced west, and a little bit north, his head raised appreciatively, his eyes merry. Not-so-far-off, in the distance, twinkling fountains of lights spewed over the horizon, sending off a delayed "BOOM," and repeating themselves again. Red, blue, white, green, fat, thin, round, flat; Argus' first Fourth of July fireworks show played on, much to the obvious delight of this yearling in a horse's body. He was not afraid, only fascinated. No shaking, just brown eyes like big, shiny buttons, taking in his first real Fourth of July.

Here on the farm, with our glorious 360-degree vistas, a clear-skied July 4th presents us -- and the horses --- with an array of subtle fireworks samples, small and far away. To the southeast, Santa Rosa shows it colors. To the west, we can catch a glimpse of the tiny Sebastopol celebration. Northwest of us, the town of Windsor gives the best show for our farm-view money.

In all my years of watching distant fireworks from the perimeters of the paddocks (and comforting nervous horses), I have never seen a show so bright, so seemingly close up, as I did this year. I was late in bringing the horses in to their comforting enclosures, and so, in the dark, alone, at 9:30 pm, I began my task. Ken had taken the children to Windsor to lay underneath the spectacular show; I stayed home to tend to our dog Snoopy, recovering from surgery, and two horses who hadn't spent a fourth in our care --- Argus and Katie. We never know what horses will do on this holiday.

Back to the semi-circle of horses.

All four quietly watched the 40-minute show, and I, in turn, watched them. The faint flicker of lights from the fireworks lit Ridge and Argus' white faces with an eerie glow. Black Half Pint kind of faded into the dark, only his eyes flashing on occasion, while Odie's white face stood out, his cookie-colored body mixing warmly with the blanket of night. I watched them as a mother watches her children, delighting not in the events themselves but the way it pleases those she loves; the irony was not lost on me. Most times, I am watching the happy faces of four human children, but tonight, I watched the smiling faces of my four equine children as they stared at the beautiful show.

What astounded me was that not one was nervous. They were clearly enjoying the mystery that appeared before them on the horizon. They stood within inches of each other, gently pressing against their neighbor for security. Here in the inky darkness, I stood quietly, watching the fireworks, just me and my horses. In a life full of memories, I was keenly aware that this one in particular would rise to the top, like rich, sweet cream, to be enjoyed over and over in my mind.

It was a reminder of how far Argus has come. Liberation is both physical and mental. Argus' body was freed seven months ago, but his mind has taken some time to catch up. Watching him enjoy the fireworks on Independence Day made me realize that Argus has turned the corner and is free, at long last.

Smoky Skies, A Visit From Dr. Miller, Upcoming Trials, and a Plug For "Katie"

2008-07-02T09:00:00.000-07:00

For a week, the skies of Northern California were choked with the smoke of hundreds of wildfires. Although our county was spared (for now), the counties to the north (Mendocino) and east (Napa/Solano) waged their own tough war against flames that licked their way up steep, wooded slopes and through fields of brittle grass. It's summer, and California's fire season has arrived early.

Here at Watermark Farm, the horses stumbled about through the haze. The beautiful Sonoma County hills that surround our farm were obscured by smoke, making it look like we were sitting in the middle of a vast, polluted valley. My hair smelled like campfire 10 minutes after showering. I could barely make out jewel-like vineyards around us.

All in all, Argus and friends survived the week well. Those few residents sound enough to be called riding horses took the week off, and the rest lived life as usual, roaming the pasture in search of a tasty weed.

The warm weather finally brought the first real crop of flies, although thanks to the tiny, stingless wasps called "fly predators" (we release them every three weeks), our farm has a blessedly low fly population. Even so, it was time to introduce Argus to the joys of a fly mask. He surprised me, as always, by complying quietly while I slipped it over his ears, no halter, right out in the middle of the pasture, with a look as if to say "Oh, OK, I have no idea what this is, but if you want me to wear it, I will!" I may be anthropomorphizing, but I swear he looked quite proud of himself while he wore that fly mask all day. It bears the name of much-loved boarder, who died a few months ago: DANCER

Yesterday, a frazzled Dr. Miller made a visit to Watermark Farm, a victim of a long pleasant vacation and a hit-the-ground-running start back into the Real World. It was, he said, his first real vacation since graduating from vet school. "I've had my hands inside a cow all morning," he said, "and horses don't like the smell." I winced. He went on to tell me about the cow surgery, all the while washing his hands with something flowery.

We walked out into the pasture, where Argus' eyes grew big and wide at the sight of Dr. Miller. I haltered him. He began to shake. The protective mother part of me wanted to whisper to Argus: "Stop shaking! Knock it off! Get a hold of yourself! You are making this man who saved you feel BAD!" Dr. Miller smiled ruefully. "It's Okay," he said, "I represent the worst day of his life."

Dr. Miller edged toward the quaking Argus. I'd asked him to stop by to evaluate Argus' weight, which he deemed "thin, but Throughbred thin." He told me that Bobby, the other horse rescued from 16 years in the mare motel, was the same way: the foster home could not make him fat. He explained further that in cases of chronic malnutrition, when the body realizes that it does not receive various vitamins and nutrients, it "turns off" its ability to receive and utilize those nutrients. So for Argus, he may always struggle with weight and a certain level of malnutrition because he may have permanently lost the ability to metabolize some things. The thought of it made me sad. And angry.

Overall, Dr. Miller was pleased with Argus' progress. When I finally turned Argus loose back into the pasture, he cantered away with a sassy air. To see this horse trot and canter still brings tears to my eyes. Argus is so very happy, you can see it in his eyes. A look of absolute contentment, of soaking up every single moment life brings, smoke and pasture, scary vets and evening grain. Argus has started being ever so slightly obnoxious as he waits for his evening 6 flakes of hay (!) and his little bucket of supplements. He weaves a bit, and stamps the ground, and nickers at me! How can I not enjoy every moment of his anticipation, however silly, for it's so rich with joy and expectation.

My conversation with Dr. Miller moves to the side of his truck, where he gingerly pulls out a folder and shows me the stack of court documents he pores over in his spare time. "This is all volunteer work," he says, "it's a lot." I can hear in his voice a mixture of pride and exhaustion. Dr. Miller helps the Animal Control departments of two counties, Sonoma and Marin, by testifying at pre-trial hearings and trials of those accused of animal abuse. He does this in addition to responding to calls to inspect neglect/abuse cases. It's heartwrenching work, and scary too. People who abuse animals are not nice people. Dr. Miller has one trial coming up this month. He shows me a photo of a horse laying down, its head the only thing visible through a slightly open stall door. The horse is dead, locked inside a stall without food and water. This case comes up soon. Two other horses survived that hell. One comes to me today for training. Her name is Katie, and she is a rideable, athletic, gorgeous 9-year-old Thoroughbred mare. Stay tuned for updates. Katie is available for adoption. She has "sporthorse" written all over her! Katie must find a lifetime home with someone who will cherish and enjoy her:

Dr. Miller asks me to keep a date in August open for yet another trial. It's for Argus' former owner, the hoarder who kept Argus and Bobby penned up in 12 x 16 mare motel pens for nearly 16 years. She has four other horses still in her possession. She has pushed her case all the way to a jury trial. Dr. Miller says that hoarders tend to do that.

So there's a lot going on, and in the middle of it, horses are in need of permanent homes:

Argus (companion horse only; must stay in the Bay Area)
Bobby (Argus' friend in hell; sweet older TB; companion only)
Katie (rescued 9-year TB mare; sound, athletic well built, good mover, great sporthorse propect!)

Please feel free to email me (watermarkfarm1@yahoo.com), or contact the Sonoma CHANGE Program (www.sonomachangerogram.com) for adoption information on any of these wonderful horses.

Thank you for all your support!

Best Hoof Forward

2008-06-17T11:13:00.000-07:00

Life at Watermark Farm has been sailing along at a fast pace. Four children tumbling headlong toward the glorious end of the school year has made for one busy June so far. Yesterday was the long-awaited First Official Day of Summer Vacation.

As if to usher in summer and its horsey delights, the start of vacation began with our regular appointment with Mare The Farrier. The girls and I dragged out our assortment of ancient, one-eyed, permanently lame equines and Mare got to work.

I'm lucky to have Mare as both a friend and a talented shoer. She has a heart of gold and the patience of a saint. We sit quietly while Mare tells us about her recent Journeyman Farrier test (where she had to hand-forge shoes from bar stock for a horse she'd never met before, all within 2 hours, and all done to exacting specifications).

She talks to the children about hoof health, listening to their questions and concerns as if she were speaking to an adult. The girls feel empowered by Mare; they are unafraid to ask silly questions,and are inspired by seeing this pretty, petite woman trim hooves, pound steel, and hunker down under 1000 pound horses.

This was Argus' second trim with Mare; it was his fourth trim since his liberation in December 2007. His fourth trim ever. I am amazed at his progress and how cooperative he is for Mare now.

"He's like a baby," she remarked while trimming him. Mare moves deliberately and speaks gently to Argus, quietly asking him to hold each foot up for her. Argus is very much like a 2-year-old, gangly and unsure of his body. He tries hard to please, works to comply, and occasionally has no idea what you're asking of him.

With the trimming, we take it slow, because all this is still very new to Argus. Argus stands by the pasture gate, where he feels most comfortable. Half Pint is positioned in an adjoining paddock, offering support (you can almost hear him saying "That's it! Put your foot up on that stand and keep it there!). Mare lets me hand-feed Argus when she's got his foot up. It seems to work. I keep Argus plied with a bucket of treats and he gets rewarded for his amazing efforts. We can do this because Argus is exceptionally kind when it comes to people, and although he is eating, he is very much aware of Mare's presence under him. He truly is an incredible horse.

I wish I could get more weight on him. He looks thinner this week than he has in the past, and it worries me. It's time for a progress evaluation with Dr. Miller.

Life at the farm has its funny moments. I've finally taken photos of our silly rooster, Bronze. This young rooster spend his nights sleeping on the back of whatever horse is stabled in the barn. Usually, it's Ginger the Shetland Pony. Yesterday, it was Half Pint, who's on paddock rest due to a bad fall in the pasture a few days ago.

Yesterday, Bronze had no intention of getting up for the day. He spent most of the morning happily perched on Half Pint's back, crowing occasionally, riding from the barn out into the paddock, and back again:

Horsing Around With Martha Stewart

2008-06-03T12:46:00.000-07:00

This has absolutely nothing to do with Argus, but it made me laugh and gives a glimpse of Martha Stewart and her horse facility.

Shhhhh....Don't tell Argus about Martha's buffet table, as he might start expecting exotic additives like turnips and mangoes. To my great relief, iceburg lettuce and stale french bread are missing from the spread.

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Argus in the Media!

Look for articles on Argus in this month's Horsewyse magazine (Australia) and in the American Quarter Horse Association's publication, America's Horse.

WHOOOOOOSH!!!!

2008-06-02T13:51:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning began early with a loud WHOOOOOSH! I was sound asleep in bed, eyes glued shut, dry mouth hanging open, my brain hardly firing on enough cylinders to process an awful racket coming from outside.

Despite the noise, I drifted at the edge of sleep, lost to the delicious kind of slumber one only gets on quiet weekend mornings. Then it came again, that hateful noise, this time louder and more insistent: WHOOOOOOSH!!

Little human footsteps went pitter-pattern down the hallway, past our bedroom door. I heard the front door open and slam shut. Children's voices were excitedly discussing the source of the WHOOOOOSH, even inviting the WHOOOOOSH to come closer.

I shot upright in bed, finally placing the whoooshing sound. It was a hot air balloon, and it sounded close!

Living in the heart of Northern California's beautiful wine country makes for many interesting experiences. Every spring and summer, dozens of hot air balloons drift over our farm during the still early morning hours, taking excited sightseers on undoubtedly spectacular adventures over the vineyards. The horses are used to seeing the colorful orbs dangling high in the sky. Occasionally, a balloon will even land at a neighboring farm (with permission, of course). But low-flying hot air balloons are a source of concern for horse owners at times because they can incite fence-crashing panic among equines.

WHOOOOOOSH!!

Sure enough, just outside our bedroom window, in the vineyard next to the horse pasture, a hot air balloon hung nervously, too still, just 10 feet above the vines. The pilot was busily sending flames up into his balloon, trying to make it rise, hence the sleep-shattering whooshing sound.

I ran outside, half dressed, camera in hand. The horses stood, frozen, watching the balloon:

In the end, the balloon's WHOOOOOSHING paid off, and it rose rapidly into the sky and drifted southeast, no doubt toward a waiting "chase" vehicle and the end of an exciting ride for its occupants. The horses went back to their business, the adventure over, and Argus and I both headed back for the last bit of Sunday morning sleep.

Odie The Mule Shows Off

2008-05-30T14:30:00.000-07:00

As promised (and by the emails received, much anticipated!), photos of Odie The Mule with his 13-year-old rider, Demi, at the recent Marin County Pony Club Horse Show.

Odie LOVES to jump, will jump just about anything, and is the ultimate "packer" over fences. Like many mules, he's a powerful, scopey jumper capable of much larger and more complex fences than these. With his former owner, he was shown over 3'9" courses.

Demi studies the outside course. She's nervous because Odie can be naughty on the cross country course. He once decided to go back to the trailer halfway through.

Tired Odie enjoys one of many second place ribbons earned last weekend, surrounded by the usual throng of mule admirers. He's a real curiosity at shows! Does Odie tell Argus about his adventures away from home? I like to think so.

Bedtime Stories

2008-05-28T08:42:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy time here at the farm, with two horse shows back-to-back (pictures of Odie the mule jumping cross country to come). Argus felt good after his work with Dr. Guyton, and he's continued to straighten out and build muscle. He's a lot more in his body these days.

Argus has been rather naughty lately, but in a good way. A "normal" horse way, the way you'd expect a 2-year-old horse to be. He and Ridge escaped the pasture a few nights ago (I left the gate open), and spent one glorious hour wandering around the grounds at dusk, before my son said "Hey mom! There are two white ghosts in the yard!"

I ignored Ethan, because it was bedtime and he's famous for his diversionary tactics. We went back to reading "Giant Tales" and I nudged him under the covers. After a few minutes, Ethan peered out his window and said "I think there are horse ghosts in the yard." His eyes twinkled. I peered out to look: Sure enough, two faint white ghosts roamed the perimeter of the vegetable garden, plotting.

Outside, Argus and Ridge stood staring at my tomatoes. Argus, who could not see the chicken wire fence of the veggie garden, plunged half-heartedly into the fencing. My heart stopped as I calmly took off my sweatshirt, cooing to him. I was thinking: We've come too far to lose him to a vegetable garden accident!

Dear Argus stood with his characteristic quizzical expression while I wrapped my sweatshirt around his neck. He led back to the barn like this was part of our daily routine, Ridge shuffling shamefully alongside him. The two horses sighed, their adventure in the "outside world" cut short. They seemed relieved to go back into the pasture.

I wonder how curious Argus is about this outside world. I've written before about how excited he is to see the trailer now. Sunday was no exception. Early Sunday morning, we loaded Odie the mule and Ginger the Shetland pony for a show in Marin County. Argus watched calmly, now used to the appearance of the trailer on weekend mornings, the slow disappearance of his friends down the bumpy gravel driveway, and their long-awaited return at day's end.

When we returned late that evening after a long, dusty day, Argus greeted Odie warmly at the gate. Odie rolled, shook out the last of his braids, and high-tailed it out to pasture. Argus followed dutifully behind. I wondered what their campfire stories would be like that night, with Odie impressing his pasture mates with tall tales of monster jumps. Ridge, I am sure, was one-upping him with stories of his dressage career. Dueling old show horses in the field.

Argus, I can imagine, listened intently, his eyes wide, just like a little boy tucked under the covers enjoying a bedtime story.

The Chiropractor Comes To Visit

2008-05-17T12:47:00.000-07:00

Here on the farm, time has a funny way of slowing down, speeding up, and occasionally looping back in upon itself. Days sometimes seem to melt into each other, blurred by the business of life: the nurturing of a marriage, the care of four children, running the family business, caring for a multitude of animals and a hobby farm that always seem to be falling apart. In between, the the house must be kept clean, groceries purchased, violin lessons driven to. The girls stay busy with pony club and dreams of local horse shows. The boys divide their time between Shakespeare performances and an obsession with remote-controlled airplanes.

We are blessed with a rich and sacred life that sometimes overshadows the quiet experiences that make it so poignant. The turning of events, the way people and creatures come into our lives and shape them forever, fascinates me. I think back to that fateful phone call last December from a vet I had never met, asking for help with Argus, and wonder: Was this all for a reason?

Once, more than four years ago, I went to the animal shelter to adopt some rats for our son, Drew. At the back of the shelter, in the heartbreaking "never for adoption" section, lay an ancient black and white dog, surrendered by his owners. I stood sadly in front of his kennel, where he never lifted his head to look at me. He had given up. His name was Snoopy. I brought him home that day, thinking we would give him a dignified death away from the pound.

$500 later, the vet said "this is a young dog! Only 8 years old. He has low thyroid and a messed up back from years of chewing at flea bites." We watched Snoopy age in reverse, from what looked like 16, and at death's door, to a dog with energy to rival a puppy. Thyroid medication and chiropractic care were the key to a second life.

So imagine my pleasure when Snoopy's chiropractor of the last 4 1/2 years, Dr. Suzanne Guyton, told me during one of Snoopy's monthly visits that she would like to work on Argus on a volunteer basis. I was thrilled! Dr. Guyton is a human Doctor of Chiropractic whose busy practice is devoted exclusively to horses, dogs and cats.

I had never seen Dr. Guyton work on a horse, but she did just that last Thursday, when she came to Watermark Farm to evaluate Argus.

Argus is sweet and loving, but can be shy with strangers. He has a hard time with men (I think because he has almost never been handled by a man) and people who try to "do things to him." If you take your time, and show him you are not going to hurt or force him, he is willing and cooperative. I knew that gentle Dr. Guyton, with her unobtrusive ways, would be a good match for him.

We were both curious as to what she would find. After all, chronically confined horses are not exactly growing on trees. Dr. Miller, Argus' vet, who has veterinary chiropractic training, had already adjusted Argus' atlas area (that's the area of the neck just behind the ears), and noted the various abnormalities in Argus' body. I was curious as to what Dr. Guyton could do. I prepared myself for nothing more than a thorough evaluation, not knowing if Argus could handle the intrusion of adjustments. Previous neck adjustments had been undertaken with sedation.

I was pleasantly surprised. Not only was Dr. Guyton able to throughly assess Argus, but she also performed adjustments from one end of his body to the other. He was WONDERFUL! I was proud of him! Of course, I fed him about 5 pounds of cookies in the process, but he got it! He understood that Dr. Guyton was here to help him, and he cooperated as if he was an old show horse getting his regular care. At times, he would take huge, deep breaths of relief. By the end, Argus was sleepy. Dr. Guyton said that the result of endorphin release.

So here's the scoop, here's the "train wreck" that Argus is:

Argus' 1st, 2nd and 3rd cervical vertebrae are a mess. These are the vertebrae at the top of neck, behind his head, the big chunky 1st cervical vertebra being called "The Atlas" because it's huge and it sits below the skull, kind of like the mythical Atlas who held up the earth. With Argus, you can see how the Atlas is pushed out to one side. When he first arrived, this area was exquisitely painful.

In addition, Argus' had painful fixation in the thoracic region (the area under the saddle; T9-11 for those who want to know) and the lumbar region (the horse's low back). It was the low back I was most interested in, because when you look at Argus, you are acutely aware that the back end of his body is not fully "alive."

Argus' entire pelvis is badly rotated, much worse than any other horse I've seen. Dr. Guyton commented that what she saw in him was often the result of an accident where the horse's hind end went out from under it. This is plausible, since Argus was kept in his pen all the time, but a few times over the years, he was said to have been let out into a small paddock, where he would "run like crazy" for a little bit before his owner put him back in. The damage done was massive. Argus' entire hind end is a mess.

Most likely, much of the damage in Argus' body stems from total confinement, and from the violent, neurotic weaving style he adopted in order to release energy and keep his sanity. Nature, with its magnificent adaptive ways, remodeled Argus' body in ways that shored him up to withstand the side-to-side motion of weaving. (Weaving is a vice most common in stabled horses where the horse stands and sways from side-to-side. It wreaks havoc on the body.)

Here, you can see the unlevel sacrum:

Still, Dr. Guyton let out a joyful cry when she discovered that his hind end had "movement," meaning she could adjust it. Craggy arthritis hasn't yet dug its claws in.

Dr. Guyton also pointed out something interesting, something I had wondered about. She noted that Argus' left hip, specifically the region of his ileum (part of the pelvis), was a strange shape. I have since researched the ileum a bit, and now wonder if Argus' has an old, healed fracture of the ileum? This is a common place to have a non-displaced pelvic fracture, and it can heal with time ---- and confinement ----- which Argus had plenty of. Injuries of the ileum can occur with a fall or running through a narrow gate.

I took some pictures, so you can see what it looks like. If there is anyone out there who knows about old injuries like this, please post a comment. I would appreciate your input.

This is the left hip. See the indentation?

This is the right hip, for comparison.

This shot shows the indentation in the left hip even better:

This shot shows Argus' rump, and its asymmetry:

For comparison, here are Ridge (right) and Argus side-by-side, in nearly the same position. Although they are different horses, with different conformation, you can see how wasted Argus' hind end tends to be when you compare it with Ridge's:

I asked Dr. Guyton to pose for a photo with her two patients. See how sleepy Argus is? This was taken after the adjustments (Dr. Guyton was able to make headway in every area, by the way).

That's Snoopy, our dog. He LOVES Dr. Guyton. Snoopy has only seen Dr. Guyton at her office, so he was pleasantly surprised and excited when she drove into the farm the other day. He gave her a hearty greeting. When I went to take this photo, Dr. Guyton said "I think Snoopy would like to be in the picture." Look at these two pictures and the way Snoopy is smiling as he snuggles against Dr. Guyton, his friend:

Argus spent the rest of the day snoozing in his paddock. Later on, when I walked through the barn, he stood in the stall, watching me. I heard the tiniest muffled sound, confirmed by the brief flutter of his nostrils. He was nickering at me. Only the second time ever.

Argus Takes A Real Nap

2008-05-14T12:57:00.000-07:00

On Monday morning, I headed down the driveway with a carload of kids. Far away, at the edge of Neighbor Jim's pasture, stood two horses. At their feet in the soft dry grass were two large lumps, one white and one tan.

"Oh look," I said, "Odie and Ridge are taking a morning nap." I squinted my eyes and noticed that the gray horse standing had a full-length tail. It was Ridge.

I slammed on the brakes. It was as if I'd been hit with an electric bolt. "Did you see that? The tail?" I demanded. My poor confused children were asking me "Mom! What's wrong?" At this point, fat tears were already making their way down my face. A world record for crying.

The white horse sleeping in the grass was Argus.
Flat out.
Sleeping.
Argus.

Argus has lived here for more than 5 months, and in this time, I've never seen him lay down except to roll. I've seen signs that he's slept, but have been very concerned all along that he had somehow lost the ability to truly lie down and rest. Life in prison had robbed him of that. After all, it's scary to lay down in a 12 foot wide pen when you are afraid your stiff body will not let you get back up.

So back to the two sleeping lumps. Laying flat out in the pasture, obviously napping, Odie the mule and Argus were nestled in the tall grass, the only sign of life the occasional tail and ear flick. Half Pint and Ridge stood guard over them in a state of relaxed alertness. It was the way I had hoped Argus would learn to sleep --- as a horse does in nature with his herdmates to watch over him and sound the danger alarm.

Deep sleep happens even in horses, even though they are famous for sleeping standing up; to achieve deep, restful sleep (REM sleep) they must lay down. In fact, a well rested horse needs about 20-40 combined minutes of REM sleep in a 24 hour period. They do this in bits and pieces: 2 minutes here, 10 minutes there. Sure, they can go days, and, in Argus' case, months or years without adequate REM sleep, but a price is paid.

Argus is chronically tired, you can see it. He starts to collapse when he sleeps standing up. He will drift off, head sinking lower and lower, until his front legs buckle slightly and he wakes up again. He has chronic "bedsores" on his fetlocks from this. But now that I think of it, I haven't seen him do this in a while. Could it be that he's finally getting some REM sleep under cover of darkness, out in the pasture?

I felt proud of my horses Ridge, Half Pint, and Odie --- Argus' teachers ---- for showing him so many horse skills that he never learned, and that I could not possibly have taught him. They have taught him about body language, play, where to find the best grasses, how to flirt with a girl....and how to take a morning nap. They treat him with a patience and compassion that's unusual for horses. To these three geldings, who somehow seem to know that Argus is special in a way different from all others here at Watermark Farm, I extend my deepest gratitude. You are Argus' teachers, and you are my teachers, too.

I think I'll go take a nap now.

Big Boy Haircut

2008-05-10T14:42:00.000-07:00

Argus is curious about the horse trailer and the mysterious comings and goings of Ginger the pony, Ridge and Odie, the three who trailer out the most. This morning, as we left for a Pony Club mounted meeting, he called wistfully to the lone Odie as we rattled down the bumpy gravel driveway, following our progress by running alongside the fence until he ran out of pasture. He stood and watched sadly as we disappeared from view.

Hours later, when we returned, the same process, but in reverse. Argus ended up making his way from the farthest corner of Neighbor Jim's pasture back to the barn, where I had parked the trailer. He watched Odie unload. It made me wonder what they talk about when a horse returns from a trip off the property. Does Odie entertain the horses with tales of Pony Club rallies and horse shows? Does Ridge brag about his great dressage scores? Does Half Pint bore them with tales of his 3+hour trailer rides to the lameness specialist in Oakdale?

Today, I decided to take Argus to visit the horse trailer ---- just to take a look-see. He blew suspiciously at it, and shook a little. I threw a hay bag onto the ramp, encouraging him to eat and relax. He spooked a bit at the hay bag (never seen one before) and peered inside the trailer. I patted him and chattered away happily, telling him what a wonderful thing our trailer can be. We investigated the tack compartment (scary), and Argus took a meek step on the ramp (WAY scary), after which he took a big sigh and looked bored. That was our first trailering lesson.

Next, we tackled tying. For five months (that's how long Argus has been here), I have been teaching Argus to lead, and to respond to halter pressure lightly. That's the cornerstone of successful tying. Many times, we have "pretend" tied, me looping his lead rope loosely through a tie ring, and holding the stray end, ready to let go if panic hits. Working up to being tied is a big deal. I have seen so many horses injured permanently by a bad pull-back accident (that's where they panic while tied and pull back in a violent fit.) So I'm a bit conservative in the typing department these days: I use safety halters, and we tie to baling twine loops. Horses learn to lead, and lead well before they are tied hard.

Feeling ready, I brought Argus into the barn aisle and casually looped his lead through a baling twine loop. I picked up some brushes and went to work. He pulled gently against his leadrope, and to my great pleasure, moved forward nicely each time he felt resistance from the halter and lead. So for the first time ever, Argus stood tied today for grooming.

A thorough brushing, and a mane trim. Competition horses have their mane properly pulled. Here at the farm, once you are retired from all that, you get "the scissors." Manes are shortened the quick and dirty way: by cutting.

This was the first time since Argus' first day out of prison that he's had his mane trimmed. It had grown out nearly SIX inches since December, making him look a bit scruffy and in need of a "big boy haircut." While Argus stood tied quietly, I combed and brushed and snipped. Then I trimmed his fetlock hair (that's the knobby joints just above the hooves) and brushed out his stumpy, but recovering, tail (we found out recently that it was a local VET who cut off his tail when he became entrapped in it while still in prison. SHAME on that vet for not reporting this to the authorities!! I also found out that it was only two months before Animal Control finally extracted Argus from prison that his tail was removed).

Argus stood happily. He loves attention, and he LOVES LOVES LOVES to be groomed. A bodyworker who came to see Argus told me that in Traditional Chinese Medicine, such a deep love of touch is a sign of deficiency. At any rate, Argus will stand quietly all day if you are touching him. He has a wonderful mind, and tries so hard to cooperate.

When I was done with my scissors and brushes and comb, I stood back to admire my work. Before me stood a stately grey sporthorse who looked so proud of his haircut. Half Pint stood in the fatty stall, watching, his nose to Argus. They seemed to be deep in some silent horse conversation. About what, I do not know.

Twelve Thousand Words

2008-05-08T10:30:00.000-07:00

It helps to compare periodic photographs, especially shots of the legs and hind end. I see Argus every day, so I don't always notice the changes. Here is Argus last week. Look at his MUSCLES! Look at his gaskin (the area above the hock joint), and then look above that. Compare this picture with the one below to see the changes:

This is a picture of Argus taken about 6 weeks after he left prison:

And here's a shot of Argus the day after he left prison. It doesn't really convey just how straight his legs looked. Everyone commented that his legs looked "like sticks." Rehabbing a horse like this is a new adventure for everyone involved ---- vets, farriers, and, of course, me. No one really knows the full effect of so many years of confinement:

One of the things I remember the most about Argus is that the muscles in his hind end, especially on either side of the tail (what are those called?), felt like soft, gooey bread dough when he first came to me. I would press my hands into these muscles and memorize the feel, because I had NEVER EVER felt anything like it. Today, his muscles feel like regular horse muscles, firm and with substance.

Here is Argus playing "follow the leader" with Ridge. Can you see how it's getting harder and harder to tell them apart from a distance?

Argus keeps his front right leg bent a good deal of the time. The tendons are hard and contracted in that leg. They have relaxed and stretched some (for example, his leg no longer shakes when he stands quietly), but only time will tell if they ever become normal. I massage these tendons with my hands. They are as hard as concrete. I am hopeful and amazed that he hasn't injured or bowed a tendon on this leg. It's one of the reasons I had to be so careful about turning him out in deep or muddy footing

A tangle of white Thoroughbred legs. These two are good friends.

Bookends. Can you tell which one is which?

Argus and Half Pint strut their stuff. It's good to see Half Pint trotting. He's a rescue horse, also. He was a PMU foal who was rescued at auction by a friend. Sadly, he's had many health issues during his 7 years of life (colic surgery, severe lameness). He has been severely lame over the past two years, despite many trips to see "Uncle Dr. Black," a lameness specialist at Pioneer Equine Hospital. A last-ditch attempt to help him be pasture sound was undertaken last fall, when Half Pint had a bi-lateral neurectomy. For the first time in two years, Half Pint is able to trot and canter around our pasture. It's good to see him enjoying life again.

Which is which? That's Ridge on the left, Argus on the right.

He's finally starting to look like a regular horse! Head down, grazing, and look at that hind end. It's not so badly tucked under now. See the lack of muscling in his butt? It makes his back end look like a triangle.

Argus stops to investigate the crazy photographer (me) who is laying in his field, taking pictures. "What are you doing down there, food lady?" he seems to be saying.

Cows, Mares, Hoof Trims and Sunset Hugs

2008-05-07T12:03:00.000-07:00

Argus is enjoying blue skies and the first golden grass of summer. He spends his days wandering our three fields with his three friends, his head down in a grazing position nearly all the time now. He stares off into the distance less and less.

Our neighbor's beautiful Black Angus heifer just gave birth to a tiny black calf. The next day, our neighbor went out and rescued a newborn male Brahma calf who was destined for auction. The black cow with her "twin" babies --- one tiny black heifer and the even tinier white Brahma calf --- have caught Argus' attention and fascination. He watches them over the fence as Mama cow tandem nurses both babies (she accepted the Brahma without fuss, almost as if she knew his life depended on her kindness) and stands protectively over them. Argus, too, stands protectively a few feet away, on the other side of the fence. He will have nothing of Ridge's silliness about cattle.

Spring is in the air, but for the rather asexual Argus, it means little in the way of love. While the other geldings are "feeling their oats," Argus is having his first taste of romance in the form of Angel, a crippled and beautiful mother horse rescued from a feedlot last year. Angel, who was once an emaciated, used up broodmare...(Here she is at the feedlot in April 2007, her baby hiding behind her)

is now a shiny and stunning bay who limps around our yard, napping in different locations according to the time of day. Here is Angel in March 2008:

Over the fence, she and Argus have become friends, and something more. Argus is learning the fine art of courtship, with hussy Angel directing him. He has no idea what he has gotten himself into.

Angel sashays up to the fence separating them (they've been together in turnout, too, but Angel's crippled legs can't hold up to much playtime), presenting herself to the confused Argus, who clearly has no idea what she means with her friendly winking. He rests his head on her back and closes his eyes, breathing deeply of her smell and the warmth of her mirror-like coat. She is love-starved; he just wants friendship. Somehow, they seem to meet each other's needs.

Argus saw the farrier last week. It was his third trim since his rescue, and the first full-fledged trim without drugs! I was so proud of Argus, who at first regarded farrier Mare (yes, that's really her name) with so much suspicion, I thought we would be out of luck. Mare, who is preparing to take her Journeyman farrier exam, had spent the morning forging shoes by hand. She arrived reeking of burnt hooves and forge fire. Argus recoiled at her smell, but relaxed once he saw the cookies in her hand. He politely accepted one, and let Mare get to work.

First one foot, then the other. Our hard work, Argus and mine, is paying off. Lately, we have been playing farrier together. I strap on some chaps (the closest thing to a farrier's apron I own), and make a big production with my rasp and nippers. I pick up Argus' front feet and practice holding them between my legs. I bang and rasp a bit, dropping tools and making clanking sounds. Argus snorts at me and jerks his leg back. I stroke him quietly and start again. It's hard work, and it makes me appreciate the farrier's back.

For Argus, it's curious work, too, and he cooperates nicely, even though sometimes it's scary and he doesn't quite understand. I don't own a stand, so Argus is learning to place his foot on a bucket for more "pretend" rasping. I am amazed at this horse. He is nicer and more willing than many other horses I have worked with. He loves to learn, and he learns quickly.

It all paid off during Mare's visit. She was able to do a decent trim on all four feet. Sure I was at Argus' head plying him with a bucket of alfalfa meal, but we got it done without drama or upset, and Argus ambled slowly away when it was over. I smiled so hard my face hurt afterward, and I must have told him "I AM SO PROUD OF YOU!!" fifty times. I wondered if the farrier thought I'd lost my mind. But then again, I suspect she has thought this about me, with my odd collection of crippled and unwanted horses, for a long time. But then again, she's a soft heart like me, and she understands my ways.

Next week, Argus starts chiropractic treatment with a horse chiropractor who has volunteered to treat a horse in the CHANGE program (which helps fund Argus' care --- http://www.sonomachangeprogram.com/). I am eager to see what she thinks about Argus' physical condition.

For a while, I felt discouraged about Argus. He seemed to stay skinny, his ribs showed, he looked perpetually curled up like a shrimp. Sometimes I go back and look at my own blog entries to remind myself of his progress. I realized one day that he'd only been out in group turnout for four weeks, and here I was frustrated because he didn't look better. Argus' blog helps his foster mom in more ways than one.

But this week, something is changing for sure. I can see less of Argus' ribs, and his pelvis is less tipped under. More and more, I see Argus and his white companion Ridge far out in the field, and I have to look hard to see who is who (the tail length always clues me in). Sometimes at dusk, when I walk out into the pasture to bring one last horse in for the night, I stand with Ridge and hug him and tell him I love him, only to look closely and see that famous bloody shoulder. It's Argus who's mistakenly the object of my near-dark affection. It makes no matter. I hug him again, give Ridge my love, and head back toward the warmly lit windows of the house. I can feel Argus watching me go, then walking toward Ridge, as if to say with disbelief: "Can you believe that, man? She thinks I'm YOU?!"

Another Boring Day in Heaven

2008-04-22T09:54:00.000-07:00

"What do I write about now?" I find myself thinking. "It's been a boring week," I remark to myself, "all Argus does is eat and poop and wander the pasture. Who wants to hear about that?"

I've been thinking about this for the past few days, the sameness of it all, and how Argus' life has settled into a delicious and predictable routine: Exploring every inch of our six acres of pasture, with its grasses, herbs, and wildflowers, smelling every plant and clump of manure. Scratching his nose on a fence post, spooking at the vineyard workers, rolling in the loose dry dirt of Dancer's grave. Running from a swarm of insects, the evening routine of nosing his way around the strange concoction I place in his familiar black rubber feed tub, playing games with his friends Ridge, Half Pint, and Odie.

In the pasture, Argus ambles around in a happy daze, following Half Pint dutifully in the evening, when the overweight Half Pint is allowed a small window of grazing time. Argus loves Half Pint and trails him around the field, his nose in the draft horse's tail. Half Pint, the dominant gelding since Dancer's death, regards Argus with a kindness not always seen among dominant horses. He is patient with Argus. In turn, Argus quietly mourns Half Pint's return to the dry-lot part of the farm, where he spends most of his time now until the grass turns golden and the threat of founder has subsided. Argus stands outside the paddocks, next to Half Pint, enticing him to play games horses only seem to play over a fence, and calmly waits for morning.

Another day comes, with it the insistent banging of horses' hooves on the metal pipe gates, and the squeaky rolling of the battered green feed cart with its promise of breakfast. It's silly, because nobody is interested in hay ---- it's pasture they're after! It is turnout time for Ridge and Odie, who join Argus in an excited scramble to gallop to the far reaches of Jim's pasture. Odie gives a little mule kick, then runs in his odd way, head up, feet flying, doing what we call "the crazy mule run." Ridge streaks through the pasture at a hair-raising gallop, reminding everyone that he's still a racing Thoroughbred, and still FAST, even if he is 22. Argus follows them at a good-natured canter, not in any hurry, occasionally glancing over his shoulder guiltily at Half Pint, who gives a sad, high-pitched whinny from the confines of the "fatty paddock." Argus, you can tell, is torn between wanting to frolic and graze with Ridge and Odie, and sitting companionably with the benched Half Pint.

He chooses pasture, for now, loping out to meet his friends. They canter a few circles, heels flying, eyes merry, before suddenly settling down to graze seriously. After a while, Argus makes a feeble excuse to return to the waterer, close to where Half Pint stands. After a long drink, Argus stands again with Half Pint, as if to say "I'm sorry, good friend, but I must graze now," then slowly walks back out to the pasture. Half Pint takes a deep, resigned sigh, and settles down to his morning nap.

For most of the day, Argus eats and walks, eats and walks. He looks more and more at what is immediately in front of him, as a horse should do, and less and less at strange things in the distant hills. His head is down more, and up less. He looks more like a regular person than a wild-haired recluse, peering out between the window blinds at the bright world outside. He still swings in and out of his body, but that's okay. His ability to drift in and out of a sort of consciousness is what saved him, over the course of nearly 16 years, from going truly mad. I'll never expect him to be entirely "normal," but that's okay. It still amazes me that this horse can function at all, let alone as well as he does.

I imagine Argus covers some serious ground during the course of his days and nights in pasture. At least 20 times each day, Argus appears at opposite ends of the property. If I could attach a pedometer to his hoof, I like to imagine that he walks a good 3-5 miles every 24 hours. That pleases me and fills me with satisfaction. I watch him through the window and smile, knowing that here in my field, Argus is living what I view as a sedate, boring life as a retired pasture horse, while to Argus, each day is yet another incomparably rich adventure, full of hope and the sweet taste of freedom at long last.

Neighbor Jim Comes Through

2008-04-09T12:40:00.000-07:00

Even Neighbor Jim has gotten into the Argus project. He loaned me his pasture.

Neighbor Jim loves FFA (that's Future Farmers of America), the county fair, and anything relating to pigs. He used to raise food animals at his place, and he did it right, with good care and a quick end at home. Neighbor Jim doesn't see much use in horses.

These days, with Neighbor Jim's kids grown and gone, his empty barn echoes with the ghosts of 4-H projects past, and the beautiful pasture is knee high with the last vestiges of grass he so carefully planted and tended over the years. I drive by it every day, on my way down the driveway to our farm. It hurts me just to look at it --- a whole 3 acres gone wild.

One day recently I cornered Neighbor Jim and screwed up the courage to ask a question that I was sure he would answer a resounding NO! to:

"Would you consider," I pleaded, "letting me turn the horses out on your pasture?"

After all, it would be so simple to install a gate between his pasture and mine. It would be like a miracle, all that extra grass. I braced myself for his answer. At least I had tried.

"You gonna put that big white horse out there?" (Neighbor Jim waved his hand at Argus. Everybody knows Argus' story it seems, even Neighbor Jim)

I hestitated, then answered meekly: "Yes?"

Neighbor Jim grunted back, grinning slyly over his shoulder as he trudged toward the house: "Do with it what you want. It's all yours."

After that, the Watermark Farm work crew (that's me and the four children) got to work. There was fencing to repair, hot wire to string. Barbed wire to remove. T-posts to cap. More T-posts to cap. Even more T-posts to remove and hide in a pile far away. Chicken eggs (that's my rent) to deliver. Pony rides (more rent) to give the granddaughter of Neighbor Jim.

Our four acres of pasture plus his three acres = 7 ACRES!! That sounds silly for those of you lucky enough to live someplace where you have acres and acres at your disposal, but here in Sonoma County, and especially the part we live in (a tiny pocket famous for its Pinot Noir grape growing mojo), land either has homes or grapes growing on it, and that which doesn't have either of these has a "For Sale to Big Corporate Winery" sign out front. Heck, billionaire wine guy and racehorse owner (think Curlin) Jess Jackson has a nice 'little' winery just down the road. Seven acres of horse pasture? Heaven!

I finished all the preparations on Saturday, my eyes puffy from Dancer's burial that morning. The horses still in a state of shock. Here's a picture of them, mourning (the black horse and the bay mare were especially affected, both of them part of Dancer's inner circle). They looked so depressed. What else could cheer them up besides a field of green?

Sunday, my long-suffering husband installed the gate. We led the horses through the new gate (which really blew their minds --- an opening where there once was none) and around the new "annex." It was all a formality, really, because they were so intoxicated by the tall grass (as opposed to our fetlock high grass) that a jet airplane could have landed on the driveway and they wouldn't have looked up.

Argus seems to relish every step he takes out there. He follows Ridge like a puppy dog, observing his movements and mimicking him. Ridge has proven to be a valuable teacher and mentor, taking Argus under his wing (almost literally) when Argus feels insecure and starts his whole-body shaking (yes, he still does it). When my heart is heavy, I need only look at Argus out there to feel that all is right with the world again. It's been a lot of work, saving Argus, but here in the pasture, it all makes sense.

That's Andy the goat, by the way. He is Half Pint's friend. Everyone else pretty much tolerates him. And no, we don't leave the portly Half Pint out there long...

Goodbye, Dancer

2008-04-06T21:25:00.000-07:00

This picture of Dancer was taken just two days before his death.

It has been a sad few days at Watermark Farm, and twice I've started to write about it, but twice I've closed the computer and walked away.

On Friday evening, as I was finishing the day's chores, our retired boarder "Dancer" galloped in from pasture. I watched him and the rest of "the boys" as I always do. They cantered around the big grassy pasture for a moment, then turned west and headed into the winter pasture, toward home. I turned away for a moment to pick up my wire cutters.

When I turned back, Dancer stood in the middle of the field, his right foot cocked. My intuition told me what my brain would later confirm: something was very wrong. I watched him for a moment, thinking that he'd stepped on a stone and would move on once the sting had subsided, but he stayed glued to the spot, unable to bear weight on his leg.

I've written about these moments before, the reach-for-your-cellphone-to-call-the-vet moments where everything seems suspended in time. I reached for my cell phone, only to find it missing. I screamed for the children. The girls ran out and brought me halters to catch the now alarmed herd, who ran circles around Dancer in a frantic effort to re-start their leader.

I cradled my cell phone in my hand for what seemed like an eternity, but in fact was only a moment, sadly aware that the calls I was about to make would change lives: Dancer's and his owner's.

Dancer stood calmly in his spot, his shoulder swelling rapidly. His pulse and respiration skyrocketed. I called for the girls to bring me a blanket. He was starting to sweat.

You know things are bad when you make the first call to the vet. It's not a "will you come and check this horse?" call, it's a "you need to get over here NOW --- we have a major emergency" kind of call. The vet arrived within 10 minutes.

The next calls were made with my heart in my throat. To Dancer's owner, a kind woman of ordinary means who has kept the 19-year-old Thoroughbred pensioned with us for four years. Dancer came into her life, abandoned at a boarding stable. He never really stayed sound, so after a couple of years of plunking away with him, she sweetly arranged for Dancer to spend the rest of his life boarded with us. For four years, she faithfully made, through rain and sun, sickness and family circumstance, the three-hour roundtrip to visit Dancer and make up his ziplock bags of grain. I grew to look forward to the sight of her little black car pulling into the barnyard on Sunday afternoon.

Dancer's owner left home and drove quickly, but time and circumstance were not on her side. The vet suspected that Dancer had fractured his scapula. Either way, the horse, now drenched with sweat, was in unspeakable pain. I delivered this news to her through tears, a kind of pleading. "Please let us put him down now. He is in so much pain. He cannot wait any longer." She was just 45 minutes away, driving quickly into the night to be with her Dancer.

The vet needed no instruction, he just sadly walked back to his truck when he saw he hold my cell phone to Dancer's ear. In this way, his beloved "mother" spoke her final words to him. He stood quietly and listened while she said her last goodbye.

Through the growing twilight, I saw the vet walk back toward me, two large, pink syringes in his hand. I got that familiar lump in my throat. A friend once described putting a horse down as "the loneliest feeling in the world." I think he is right.

Dancer left this world quickly, and with dignity. The last thing he heard was my voice as he fell to the ground. I quickly slid myself under his head and cradled him in my lap as he slipped away. I will miss him terribly.

People who say that these things do not affect animals are ignorant. That evening, I visited each horse in their paddock. They were restless, calling to one another. As I went to each one, I said "Dancer is gone and he is with the angels now." They sighed, taking a big, deep breath.

Early Saturday morning, a lovely man with a big backhoe arrived early. While he dug a grave on the outskirts of the property, I took each horse to see Dancer's body. Half Pint, his best friend, nuzzled his face and licked around his eyes. They all stared long and hard before investigating the body with a kind of grace and kindness. After a moment, they asked to be taken away.

Argus had watched everything from his paddock, from Dancer's last breaths to my "go see the body" procession. I questioned whether I should lead him out there, finally deciding that he deserved to go. I felt proud of him as he calmly walked out there, the backhoe grumbling nearby, and we stopped just short of Dancer. Argus very carefully approached the body, still wary of the dominant alpha horse. He slowly leaned down to sniff Dancer, exploring his face and neck. Then, like all the other horses had done, he seemed done looking, and wanted to go back to the barn.

Later that morning, once Dancer was laid to rest and his grave smoothed into a comforting mound, the girls decorated it with calla lillies and roses. We turned the horses back out into the pasture, watching them as they negotiated their way over to the freshly-turned earth.

A while later, I looked over to see a curious thing. Odie the mule and Argus had eaten all the roses, and Odie was curled up, sleeping, at the base of the grave. Argus and the other horses stood solemnly nearby, a little lost without their fearless friend.

Dancer and Ridge enjoyed taking a mid-morning nap in pasture just last week

"Fire!"

2008-03-27T21:59:00.000-07:00

"Mama, a FIRE!" yelled Demi as she peered out the kitchen window. I stumbled out the back door into the early morning fog, my brain itself still foggy from a night's sleep and not even a half a cup of coffee. My first thought was: the horses.

The fire turned out to be a giant bonfire lit with the blessings of a Sonoma County burn permit. The culprits my hay-growing neighbors, who plucked the last of the beautiful 100-year-old walnut trees out of the earth last fall in a quest to squeeze another 10 bales of oat hay out of the field.

The sad remains of the much-loved old walnut trees sat in piles along our property line all winter, looking like brave but fallen soldiers. On Tuesday, they were set ablaze, just 100 feet from our barn.

The horses went mad as they watched the giant burn pile, with flames licking 30 feet into the sky. I could see the flames from the house. The way they reached up behind my barns, it looked as if all of Watermark Farm was on fire.

Early morning, and I was running around in my pajamas, sans the famous orange down coat. I was cold, and bra-less, and I am sure that the sight of me, --- really angry, breasts flapping freely with every long running step, tangled brown hair pinned wildly on top my head --- is still being discussed in circles of walnut tree murders and professional arsons.

"Do you have a permit for.....this?" I screamed and gasped at them. "Do you have any idea how frightened my horses are? The damage this could cause?"

The arsons blinked at me wordlessly.

I calmed the horses and moved a few into stalls without a view of the fire. I threw them some hay to distract them before running into the house to put in a venomous phone call to the hay farmer. There is right and then there is courtesy. They have a right to a permitted burn, but courtesy would dictate an advance phone call to me. The hay farmer apologizes profusely enough that I feel like a bit of a jerk.

I stood on the back porch a moment later, watching the horses, who seemed to have settled down and, for the most part, were ignoring the flaming pile in favor of their breakfast.

All except Argus, who had a nice view from his pasture (where he now spends most nights). Argus was standing with his friend Half Pint, who seemed to be taking it all in stride. Argus was not afraid, or even agitated.

He was excited. Not a bad, run-through-the-fence kind of excited, but a delighted "this is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me!" kind of excited. He was wide-eyed, and happy! Fire!! Men skulking around it!! A huge backhoe standing at the ready! His dog-tired foster mom flapping and squawking her way through the barnyard! "This is so wonderful!" you could almost hear him say, "I've always loved watching fires!"

Argus stood and looked at that fire for several hours, hardly moving. I carried his breakfast to him, but his interest in eating was limited to the occasional bored bite.

The smoke filled the air. It was terrible. The other horses headed for the pasture furthest away from the fire.

Argus stood like a statue, watching happily, pressed against the comforting cold steel rails of the pipe pens.

Happy Easter

2008-03-23T12:00:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, our neighbor turned 50. He celebrated his birthday with a family party complete with mariachi band. We had the delicious experience of feeding horses and finishing the day's farm chores while being serenaded by the magical sounds floating across the field.

I watched Argus as he listened intently, a quizzical look on his face. That look stayed in my mind all evening, making me both sad and happy. I felt sad because I know that so many times during the course of Argus' life in prison, he must have stood and listened to the sounds of parties and music and laughter all around him. It must have been exciting to have heard something new and different. I felt happy because I could see that the music pleased him.

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Argus has graduated from the winter dry lot to the adjoining green pasture, which is now full of wide blades of grass. The horses wish they could spend the entire day out there, but for now, a couple of hours must suffice. Horses have sensitive digestive tracts that do not look kindly on sudden mega-doses of rich greenery.

I foolishly opened the gate to the big pasture, the horses all charging out into the lush field. I say foolish because I forgot to teach Argus that where there once was a gate, there now was an opening. He galloped frantically up and down the fence line, past the open gate, terrified that he was separated from his friends. "Uh oh," I thought, "what was I thinking?" How would I catch him?

I called Argus as I walked toward him with the halter, trying to calm him down. Here was one charged up Thoroughbred (and those of you who have been in this situation know that catching then when they're this panicked can be harrowing) who was not seeing me. I called him again. He looked at me and stopped, allowing me to walk up to him and halter him. Argus took a deep breath of relief. I could feel how much he trusted me to help him. Amazing. We then walked through the open gate, back and forth, back and forth. Argus has unusually good ground manners and leads really well, even in a scary situation. I was proud of him. We walked all over the "new" pasture, back to the winter pasture, over to the waterer, back to the shelter, out to where Argus' friends now grazed. He got the lay of the land. I released him.

Argus walked back to the winter pasture, where he stood in a familiar spot, quiet and spent. Was it too soon for Argus to have so much room? Had I gone too fast for him?

I left him there, hoping he would figure it out, and watched from the house. Soon, he wandered up to join the herd, this time grazing quietly after a quick canter around. He has gone out several times since, and he settles down to graze just like of the other horses now.

Here are photos from that first day (taken after Argus' entered the big pasture of his own accord):

I had to throw these in. I took the girls to a dressage show yesterday. It was a disastrous day. Shelby fell off the pony just before entering at "A." Demi's mule (who has done more horse shows than we can count) spooked at a tractor and bolted across the dressage court, jumping the court rails TWICE before she could stop him. The judge excused Demi from the test. Ridge was as high as a kite and jigged his way through our test.

But the best part was the lunchtime Easter costume class. Shelby is pictured here aboard Ginger, our pony. They were dressed as "Wee Biscuit," complete with a pretty good rendition of the original Howard racing logo!

When we arrived home, back safe from our exciting day, Argus greeted the trailer with excitement. He has seen us come and go enough to realize that the trailer bears his good friends, who undoubtedly tell him about their adventures.

Yesterday, it was no different. Ridge and Odie, their manes still curly from braids, stood quietly with Argus. If you listened closely, it was almost as if you could hear them talking about their day.

Under The Stars

2008-03-18T19:22:00.000-07:00

For Argus, the last six days have been full of happiness and excitement. At 16 years old, he is becoming a real horse.

When I last left you, not quite a week ago, Argus was celebrating his first pasture experience. It went so well that the following day, I turned Argus out with Odie, our mule and Half Pint, our draft horse (both of whom would rather eat and visit than run). On Friday, I added Dancer, the creaky old Thoroughbred boarder. He's the herd boss. Dancer is the only one of the pasture geldings that has not been turned out with Argus before. Dancer gave Argus his signature evil eye, then turned back to his hay. All was well. During those three days, Argus spent the entire day turned out --- from 9 until 5 --- looking as if he'd lived this way his whole life. I could not believe it.

On Saturday, I added the fourth and final pasture friend, Buster, an energetic 19-year-old Thoroughbred who boards with us. Buster and Argus are friends. Again, no drama.

Argus handled being led out to the pasture gate like a seasoned pro. He stepped inside the gate nicely, and swung around to face me for un-haltering, the way I had taught him. Even when a pasture horse approached to investigate, Argus stood quietly, waiting for me to finish and turn him loose. He walked away casually, Odie snuggled against his side. They were off to hunt for surviving clumps of grass together.

On Sunday, Argus went out early, at breakfast time, joining the small group for a meal. He stood along the fenceline, munching hay happily out of a feeder. He discovered that he can make Odie move with just a glance. Buster, too. It seems that Argus has fallen into the middle of the pecking order. He is not quite sure what it all means, but he wields his newfound authority with grace and ease, a regal Thoroughbred through and through.

The strange thing about all of this is that I have never introduced a horse into our pasture group with so little drama. The geldings have accepted him into their little herd, and Argus is handling it all beautifully. No pacing or running, and only the occasional bit of weaving. Argus weaves to relieve stress. He reminds me, when he weaves, of a child sucking its thumb.

Every evening over the past week, I have brought Argus back to his stall and paddock, where he sighed with relief and attacked his bucket of grain. He seemed happy to be back in his "room" and at peace about being separated from the pasture crew.

Last night, Argus looked so content. He was eating his dinner with his new friends, and something in his eyes made me hang his halter back on the fence. I decided that I would let him stay out all night. Late last night, I walked out in my pajamas to check on him. He was resting peacefully under the stars.

The Victory Lap

2008-03-12T11:43:00.000-07:00

My face felt warm and prickly, but not from the sun, and a subtle mist of tears blurred my vision. I felt a liquid smile spread from my mouth to my ears. It was a private moment, just me and Argus, but it felt strangely familiar.

Here in the midst of my bare dirt pasture, I stopped walking the grey horse for a moment and paused to look up at him, with his curious expression and sense of quiet alertness. I realized then that I was feeling that same old rush I used to experience during the magical few moments at the completion of a three-day-event, when all my efforts to compete culminated in the group "victory gallop" around the stadium jumping arena.

Sometimes a bright ribbon fluttered gaily from my horse's bridle; sometimes it didn't. For the most part, I was content to bring up the back of the pack, alone in my thoughts with my horse cantering boldly beneath me. It was these times that I remember most vividly, for despite the cheering friends, the scratchy music playing over the loudspeaker, and the thunderous dust cloud of talented horseflesh galloping ahead, I was eerily alone with my horse in our own quiet place. We were a team. It was me and him --- friends and partners --- against the world.

This is how I felt yesterday, as I paraded Argus around the empty winter pasture, the only music being the rustling of the wind through the dormant grapevines; our only audience the lonely pair of Canada geese who rode out the winter here. Here we were, Argus and me, taking our victory lap together. He led calmly, carefully. He did not shake or sweat. He looked and sniffed. He was a gentleman, light as a feather on the halter, responsive, easy to handle when he spooked. We inspected fences, the shelter, and discovered the waterer. Argus took it all in stride, as if he'd explored strange pastures before.

After I was satisfied that I had taught Argus the lay of this new land, I released him. He walked off smartly, exploring every square inch of dirt. Not ten feet from me, Argus was overcome with the urge to roll.

The pasture horses, penned up in the adjacent paddocks, watched intently. (Half Pint, who was to be Argus' trial turnout buddy, was feeling too rambunctious to be trusted; Argus took his maiden spin in the pasture by himself). They seemed to understand this was a fragile thing.

I stood in the center of the pasture, clutching a halter and leadrope and my camera. Like a toddler, Argus strayed only so far, returning to me often for a hug and some reassurance.

I am so proud of you, buddy!!

The Case Of The Water-Filled Laptop

2008-03-11T09:32:00.001-07:00

Two months ago, when I first started writing about Argus, my husband took pity on me. Seeing me struggle with a slow computer and our charming country dial-up internet connection, he had an idea. It was better than watching me upload photos in tears (and with a lot of foul language).

A day later, a beautiful new laptop magically appeared on my desk. It was FAST, it was SMART, it had lots of hard drive SPACE, and, best of all --- it had a wireless internet connection!!

I had arrived! No more chiseling stone tablets, then running them across town in my horse and buggy! No more starting an upload before going to bed! This new deal was amazing!

Ken beamed, seeing my smile and my happiness at finally joining the rest of humanity in the world of high speed internet connection. Oh! The things I could do and see!!

Until Saturday.

On Saturday morning, my beautiful new computer was safely tucked away in its cabinet when two 10-year-old little girls decided to look at it. One of them carried a big glass of water. It spilled --- all over my open laptop. They mopped up the evidence, scurried away, and hoped for the best.

Later, when I sat down after a hellish morning of hauling used pipe panels, I turned on the computer. It booted up just around the time I noticed a gut-churning amount of condensation on the screen. Just around the time I saw that the keyboard was filled with water, my beautiful laptop gave its last gasp with a loud "POP!"

And that was it. Darkness. And a laptop that oozed water from every port.

So now I am back to chiseling stone tablets for a few days while we figure this mess out. The funny thing is that I am not angry. More like resigned. Broken laptops are good problems to have.

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Argus is getting ready. He knows that it will be time soon.

On Friday I harrowed the pock-marked Winter Sacrifice Pasture. It was dry enough to get the tractor in, and just damp enough to harrow the whole field, turning a leg-breaking mogul course into a soft, loamy flat turnout with great footing. I circled around and around the bumpy field until my organs were permanently rearranged and I knew for sure it was time to spring for a new sports bra. Argus watched from his adjacent turnout, highly interested in my efforts. He seemed to sense my intentions and has been more interested than usual in "The Big Pasture" and its residents ever since, stopping often to look longingly at the small gelding herd.

Do horses read our minds? Does Argus see my visions for him? Does he know that today I will turn him out there for the first time?

My visions include scenes both good and bad. I have a careful plan for introducing him to the larger pasture, first by leading him around the empty pasture, showing him the fence line. Once I am confident that he has learned the layout, I will turn him loose by himself. This way, if he becomes agitated or starts to really run, he won't have a buddy egging him on.

Next I will add a level-headed friend, someone who isn't motivated to gallop much (that pretty much eliminates all the Thoroughbreds here, which leaves me with a mule and a draft horse to choose from). And since the mule if HALF Thoroughbred, and can run like the wind (and once did on the racetrack) I will cut him as well. So that leaves Half Pint the Percheron, who likes to run but tires easily and cannot go fast. Half Pint will be Argus' first Big Pasture mate.

I know an hour or so will be all Argus can handle of this. He has already shown us that wide open spaces make for a cold sweat and shaking legs, and that the stress of turnout must be balanced for him with the encircling arms of a small paddock to come home to.

He is so much like a Thoroughbred, fresh off the track. All wound up, with no idea how to handle himself.

But still, I have no idea what to expect with Argus. This is the scary part, the part of me that keeps a cell phone close at hand when we are trying something new. Argus is sensible, but damaged. He is 16, yet barely two. Like so many survivors of trauma and neglect, Argus' actions cannot be predicted in advance. I worry about him running through a fence, like he did a few weeks ago.

"Do your best," someone once said to me regarding Argus, "that's all you can do."

So wish us luck. It's a sunny, 70-degree California day, and Argus' next adventure --- the first step to group turnout ---- is about to begin.

I'll have my cell phone in my pocket.

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For all you Cowboy fans...

Dr. Miller visited yesterday, and said that Cowboy has gained 75 pounds so far. He was taken on a walk outside his stall for the first time, and he felt good enough to try to buck. Dr. Miller is cautiously optimistic about Cowboy's chances for a complete recovery.

High On Grass

2008-03-05T12:34:00.000-08:00

Happy Argus is discovering the joys of green pasture turnout. Our little turnout is at long last dry enough to welcome him. He stays near fences for security, taking a few bites and then walking, almost as if the big blue sky is too vast for comfort.

It has taken a thousand baby steps, each building on the last, to come to this point. Yesterday, Argus and Ridge stayed out in their turnout from 10am to 2pm. Argus strolled merrily from one end of the little pasture to the other, stopping to take bites and sniff and investigate every blade of grass. He stayed calm the entire time, no fence running, no nervous pacing. I was immensely proud of him, and told him so.

These were taken this morning. The look on his face says it all.

I took this by accident while I was fiddling with the camera. It was hard to photograph Argus because he followed me everywhere, like a puppy dog. He does not react to my "shooshing" him away because I have tried so hard not to scare him! We need to do some Parelli games!

Non-Dissolving Staples

2008-02-29T17:20:00.000-08:00

"I wish they made dissolving staples," said Dr. Grant Miller wistfully this morning, as he gathered his supplies. He is not looking forward to the experience of sedating needle-phobic Argus in order to remove the staples in Arg's head.

Still, Dr. Miller marches valiantly into the paddock, greeting Argus like an old friend. Argus peers at him suspiciously, yet with a warm look of recognition in his eyes.

Poor Dr. Miller. He is like two different people to Argus.

Person number one is "Dr. Miller," who dispenses advice and drugs and carries a pocketful of scary things like needles and forehead staplers. Whereas most horses submit to the routine of IV injection without fuss, Argus hates having his neck speared more than anything on Earth.

Person number two is Argus' friend Grant, a nice guy who swings by the barn when he's in the neighborhood to feed Argus cookies, brush him and snuggle. He is trying to show Argus that even vets are people, too. Grant reports that Argus is blissfully happy during these moments where they are fast friends.

Dr. Miller walks a fine line. One minute he's the scary vet, the next he's a friend bearing treats. Argus is figuring it out. Today, we had only a half-rodeo at sedation time. We were pleased. Dr. Miller cheerfully removed the staples in Argies' head (the cut has healed nicely), then cuddled with the big white horse. Argus, although sedated and woozy, was making mental notes: "Maybe this guy isn't so bad, after all?"

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Dr. Miller just posted more current photos of Cowboy, plus a video montage (scroll down and see the photos dated 2/20 --- they show significant weight gain) Also see UTube video link! To check out Cowboy's amazing progress, go to:
Change - Coins to Help Abandoned and NeGlected Equines
Look at how much weight Cowboy gained in just ONE WEEK.

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Photos of Argus this weekend ---- PROMISE. My camera battery died, and I have misplaced the charger.

Meanwhile, wouldn't it be fun to look at some photos side by side? Here we go:

GROUND ZERO, NOVEMBER 2007: Argus in his pen of 16 years:

DAY TWO: DECEMBER 9TH, 2007 at Watermark Farm. The woman in red is a friend who does some amazing animal communication work. She had a good chat with Argus. Soon after, we cut off the horrible Howard Hughes mane. Argus was very happy. I saved the mane, which filled a huge ziplock bag.

DAY TWO, FIRST WALK OUTSIDE THE BARN:

FEBRUARY, 2008: BODYCLIPPING. Argus snoozes (sedated) while his foster mom gets some heavy winter hair off. He seemed proud of his sporthorse haircut the next day, proudly showing it to the other bodyclipped horses.

A Plug For Cowboy

2008-02-25T12:52:00.001-08:00

This is Cowboy. He was rescued two weeks ago near death from starvation. He was given only a very slim chance of surviving his first few days of re-feeding. His body score was .5 on a scale of 1-9. He was at the stage of emaciation where the internal organs begin to shut down. Cowboy's pasture mate did not survive.

Cowboy is a 5-year old Thoroughbred who was on the racetrack until August 2007. When he was rescued in early February, he was still wearing his racing plates. To look at his photos now, it is hard to imagine that only 5 1/2 months ago, this horse was in good condition.

Cowboy is another horse who, like Argus, is being helped by the Sonoma CHANGE Program and Dr. Grant Miller. And Cowboy, like Argus, now has his own BLOG! Please join me in sending thoughts of support to Cowboy and his foster care team as he continues on the path to recovery.

http://sonomachangecowboy.blogspot.com/

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Argus is out enjoying the sunshine today! On Sunday, Demi and I gave him a thorough grooming and "beauty treatment," which he enjoyed. Argus was a champ about letting me hose and wash his legs, and spray Show Sheen in his tail. I was so proud of him, as both of these things (hoses, baths, and spray bottles) are new to him.

We walked around in front of the barn, but it was too much for him. He started to shake badly. I stood with him for a while, letting him settle. It is really amazing how hard he shakes when he is frightened.

Afterward, I turned Argus out in the arena. Wow! After warming up, Argus proceeded to RUN FAST around the arena. This boy can GO! I have never seen him run so fast ---- you can definitely see that he is bred for racing. But....after our fence-crashing incident, I was leery. Although he respectfully slid to a halt just before the arena fence, I watched him closely. Argus also bucked over and over. He felt good, and it is really astonishing to see him developing these natural abilities --- running and bucking. I remember the very first time I turned him out into a small paddock, he tried to pick up the canter, his hind end weakly slid out from under him, and he ended up sitting like a dog on the ground, looking confused.

No more. Argus is getting strong. When you place your hands on his rump now, on either side of his tail, his muscles now feel like muscles. When he first arrived, they felt like soft bread dough.

Photos to come!

Argustoga

2008-02-22T20:25:00.001-08:00

Not far from Watermark Farm is a town called Calistoga, famous for its mud baths. Legend has it that in the late 1800s, a rather drunken entrepreneur stood in front of an enthusiastic crowd, pronouncing this California town "the Calistoga of Sarafornia!" What he meant, of course, was "the Saratoga of California," but the name stuck.

Clearly, someone has recently informed Argus of the medicinal benefits of mud, and Argus is intent on having his own Calistoga mud bath. This morning, I cradled a hot cup of coffee while performing my morning routine of peering at the horses from the house. This is the one thing I dreamed about back in the days when "horse property" was something I could only pine for. "I just want to be able to wake up," I told my long-suffering husband many years ago, "and drink a cup of coffee and see my horses out the window."

My husband was far less dreamy about his....er....dream. Typical man, he said: I just want to be able to wake up and go pee outside without any neighbors being able to see me.

Okay.

I am standing at the family room window, which faces the barn, staring out at the two white horses standing side-by-side in their paddocks. Except that one isn't white at all. He's, uh, DISGUSTING. And so is his blanket.

Every week something different. We say that all the time now about Argus, for each week is a lifetime to him, full of incredible adventures, terrifying mishaps, and poignant moments that slip by nearly unnoticed. This week Argus has discovered MUD. Not only has he discovered that it feels incredibly good to roll someplace wet and sticky, but he has ventured even further out into his mini-pasture to discover something even better: the drainage ditch.

Bordering our 5 acres is a shallow, wide swale that catches our runoff and diverts it off the property. For the most part, the horses leave it alone. It's muddy and cold, and although it's shallow enough to be safe, most horses are dignified enough to avoid standing in it.

This morning, Argus not only played in the ditch with great enthusiasm, he actually rolled in it! Which meant that his blanket also played and rolled in the ditch. Both of them emerged from the pasture looking rather sheepish, and drippy, and completely brown. Argus had water in his ears, and soupy tan mud pressed into just about every inch of his body.

This is a horse who is drinking up every moment of his life. Every single moment. This morning, when I went to the barn to see him up close in all his muddy finery, he gave me the most comical look, as if to say "Did you have any idea we had this fun mud to roll in? Any idea at all? Why didn't you tell me about this?"

I am in my pajamas, tall mud boots, and the famous thrift store orange down coat. Argus has no idea that we both look ridiculous. Argus holds still, even without a halter, for me to peel off that soaking wet blanket, almost as of the weight of it --- the mud, water, and goo --- has grounded him in a way that only an early morning mud bath can do.

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Argus is doing well! He is none the worse for wear since his accident last weekend! He does not allow me to touch the stapled cut easily, but occasionally I can wipe some ointment on it if I act casual and mesmerize him with my forehead-scratching talents.

His neck is still very sore and he'll get another chiropractic adjustment when Dr. Miller comes out next week to remove the staples. Thank you to everyone for your good wishes!

And yes, this is the Watermark Farm in Fulton...

A Mother's Instincts

2008-02-18T10:21:00.000-08:00

This will be a quick update, as it's a President's Day holiday, and the four school-free Watermark Farm children are roaming the house with great enthusiasm, looking for trouble.

Argus had one hell of a hangover on Sunday. His forehead was puffy, and he moved around like an old man. His entire body is very sore. Still, he ate his grain with enthusiasm, and wandered around his little pasture happily. I am relieved he is OK. We were lucky.

Not so lucky was another horse who attempted to jump a gate on Sunday night. Not here, but at a friend's nearby barn. Beautiful Betrys, a rescued warmblood PMU mare, could not be saved. Rest in peace, sweet girl. I send my deepest condolences to her owner, Lou and her boarding stable caretaker, Michelle.

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The other night, when Dr. Miller and I were discussing Argus and his troubling crash through the pipe panel gate (it was the second time in 48 hours he had "challenged" fencing), he expressed concern that I might cater too much to Argus' strange quirks without realizing it, perhaps partly because I am a mother, and mothers want their children to be happy.

I thought a lot about that comment. It was an interesting correlation.

For my children, it is my deepest desire and goal to help them become secure, well adjusted human beings who can transition into the world as independent, decent adults with a strong sense of character and responsibility. Catering to them only for the moment --- and enabling them to make unreasonable demands on the world --- does not serve them. At the same time, my expectations of them must be age appropriate, and fair. A parent is a teacher, after all, bringing children along in much the same way as we bring a young horse along, incrementally, sensibly, with kindness and boundaries.

The same is true with Argus. He, an equine toddler, is learning the ways of the world. I must protect him while slowly giving him chances to learn in a safe way. It's a tricky balancing act, especially when that toddler weighs in at 1,000 pounds. I cannot protect him from himself.

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This comment came from a woman named Barbara. I shared it with Dr. Miller, who enjoyed it, too. We both agreed that it put into words something neither of us have been able to articulate:

"Meaning well counts for nothing in this world. DOING WELL, creating a positive result, counts for EVERYTHING. I believe man's ability to do something positive, to take action, is one of the reasons God created us, and our basic purpose for living. When we do actual good, create a positive outcome, we receive a gift of fulfillment or happiness that no purchased thing or momentary "fun" could match.
It takes risking our comfort zones, our security, and the possibility of failure, to adopt a neglected or abused 1,000 pound animal that may live to be 30, may never be servicable, and has issues to work through simply to handle him for his own safety and care. For 16 years other people watched, and did not approve, but did not act. You took that risk, and I can tell from your posts, you are already experiencing some of the rewards. More will come, from the most unexpected quarters.
I am confident that at the right time the right person will find your Argus, and give him a new life that will also make you happy. It may be days, it may be years, but the next Katie will come. Argus, too, has found a purpose. To be an inspiration, to set an example that when we have been confined for a lifetime in a physical or mental prison, all hope is not lost, and we may yet be redeemed. God bless you, and thank you, for doing good."

- Barbara